


The Souling Song

by kildeer



Series: Scorpius Malfoy and the Breaking Statue [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Academia, Albus and Scorpius are huge nerds, Albus/Scorpius - Freeform, Boarding School, Complete, Dark Magic, Divination, Dreams and Nightmares, Everyone has daddy issues, Gen, Halloween, Harry Potter - Freeform, Harry Potter Next Generation, Hogwarts, Hogwarts Professors, M/M, Magic, Original Character(s), Revolution, Scorbus, Scorpius plays the piano, Second Sight - Freeform, Slytherin Albus Severus Potter, Slytherin Scorpius Malfoy, Spells & Enchantments, Witches, Wizards
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-12
Updated: 2018-05-09
Packaged: 2018-08-21 23:56:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 27
Words: 85,856
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8265085
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kildeer/pseuds/kildeer
Summary: Scorpius, Albus, and Candy start their second year at Hogwarts and a new school-wide competition has students from every House hitting the books.  A recent upheaval within the Malfoy family becomes public knowledge and Scorpius finds himself relying more than ever on Albus as he comes under scrutiny once more.  However, as the year progresses both boys start to sense that the choice to do what's right isn't as simple as they thought, and might be beyond their control.





	1. In Which Ginny Had Already Guessed That Her Garden Would Be Ruined

James was in a towering strop and as much as Albus enjoyed watching him suffer he couldn’t deny that he was somewhat surprised by the lengths his parents had gone to. In addition to grounding him for the weekend they’d taken down the Cloaking spells that usually surrounded the back garden, making it impossible for James to practice his Quidditch. He’d been going spare ever since, and Albus suspected that Teddy had been encouraged to visit to give the rest of them a break from his brother’s foul mood. 

Albus was sitting at the desk in his bedroom next to a window overlooking the garden. Teddy, in his pragmatic way, was trying to teach James some new Quidditch moves without using brooms or magic, which made them Albus's primary entertainment for the afternoon. Between glances out the window he was reading _The Three Musketeers_ ( _To Albus, You’re 12! Love, Aunt Hermione_ ) and thinking happily about fantastic men with mustaches who saved France when they weren’t busy having sword fights and drinking wine. Athos, Porthos, Aramis and d’Artagnan were in an abandoned fortress eating breakfast and scheming when Albus heard a rush of feathers behind him and turned in his chair. A slim dark hawk had just flown in through his other window and landed on the side table beneath, a scroll of parchment tied to its leg. Pebble, who had been napping on Albus’s bedpost, flew over to greet the new arrival, tilting his head inquisitively and edging towards the hawk, which looked supremely uninterested. Albus got up and went to them, smiling.

“Hello, is that for me?”

The hawk lifted its leg towards Albus with the composed dignity of a ballet dancer, and the angle of its head suggested that Albus would be expected to express gratitude for the privilege of its company. Albus did this and was about to offer one of Pebble’s owl treats, but as soon as the letter had been untied the hawk spread its wings and flew out the window. Albus watched it go and went back to his desk, breaking the black wax of the Malfoy seal, an elegant letter _M_ flanked by folded dragon wings. He unrolled the parchment and grinned to see Scorpius’s handwriting.

 

_Dear Albus,  
_

_Did you have a good time in Margate? I hope so. Thank you again for my birthday present, I’m only a couple of chapters in but I like it a lot so far. The hawk that delivered this letter was my birthday present as well. Mum took me to Dublin to get him. I’m glad that it’s already September next week; I can’t wait to go back to school. There are some things I need to tell you that I don’t want to put in a letter, I’m hoping we can sit together on the train?_

_Sincerely,  
Scorpius_

_P.S. I named the hawk Albus, but if that gets confusing I’ll change it._

 

Albus laughed at the postscript but then read through the letter again, frowning. It was by far the shortest letter he’d gotten from Scorpius that summer and he was equally intrigued and disconcerted by his friend’s caution. Thinking carefully about his reply, he weighted the paper to his desk and rolled out a blank piece next to it. 

 

_Dear Scorpius,_

_Thank you for the letter. Margate was a lot of fun, it only rained one day we were there. Me and James got terrible sunburns and Mum made us wait an hour before she would heal them cuz we hadn’t put on sunscreen like she told us to. But there were fireworks and ice cream and I found some really good shells. I love the ocean but no one wants to swim for as long as I do, I can stay out for hours and barely notice._

_I wish you could have been there, I thought about you the whole time, what you would say and think about everything. There was an old man with an accordion who sang on the street outside our hotel every night but only in French and I wished you could have been there to tell me what he was singing about. I know you said your French isn’t that good but I bet it’s better than you think it is._

_As soon as we got back to London James was on the phone to his Muggle mates and ended up going to this party last Friday night. He was supposed to be back by eleven but instead Dad caught him sneaking in at almost 4 Saturday morning, still pissed! So he’s pretty much grounded until school starts and me and Lily are feeling like angels in comparison. It’s pretty funny. I think he might fancy a Muggle girl or something, Mum keeps sighing and saying “He’s fourteen” whenever she and Dad talk about it and think I’m not listening._

_Your new hawk is awesome! Is it the kind that you can train to hunt? Why did you name it after me? Also I’ve never been to Dublin, is it cool? I’m glad you’re liking the book, I really like it too, I’m almost done. Next summer if it works out you should come visit, or I could go to yours? I’d love to see where you live, and I could show you all the cool places here in London!_

_And of course we can sit together on the train, I was planning on it anyway. I hope everything’s ok, we can definitely talk then if you still want to._

_See you in September,  
Albus_

 

Satisfied with this, Albus waited for the ink to dry then rolled up the parchment and melted green sealing wax onto it before impressing it with the sign of the Deathly Hallows. Pebble, who had been watching him with interest, flew over to the desk and hopped around on one foot, chirping eagerly as he stuck his other leg into Albus’ face. Outside James had tackled Teddy into a bed of violets and their heads were currently bent together in whispered conversation, casting paranoid glances at the house as they no doubt tried to think of a way to avoid Ginny’s wrath. 

“Alright, alright, hold still,” Albus muttered, tying the scroll to his owl’s small leg. 

Once Pebble had departed with a joyful hoot Albus absentmindedly slid his book underneath the pillow on his bed and wandered out into the hall. Standing at the banister he could hear his sister downstairs watching YouTube in the living room while the sounds of his father starting dinner emanated from the kitchen. Lily was laughing at what sounded like a video of someone falling off of a skateboard and Harry turned on the water; Albus pictured him filling a pot to put on the stove. Movement in his periphery made Albus turn his head and he started to see his mother standing just to the side of the window seat, looking down into the back garden with a smirk. She was barefoot, wearing cut-off shorts and one of his father’s grey t-shirts, her long red hair hanging over one shoulder in a messy braid. Their holiday at the beach had brought out all of the freckles on her pale skin and he liked that she never tried to cover them with makeup. 

“Have you been watching this too?” She asked, nodding to him. He smiled and went over to her.

“Yah, are they still having kittens over the flowers?”

She folded her arms across her chest and leaned against the wall, looking down to where James and Teddy were now crouching in the grass, clumsily trying to scoop and fluff the battered violets back into shape with their hands. Albus laughed and then checked himself, glancing at his mother. Ginny rolled her eyes and shook her head, smiling.

“I’ll go out there later tonight and put down some more of Neville’s QwikGro; I just like watching them fuss,” she looked at him pointedly, “but I didn’t say any of that out loud.”

Albus grinned.

“I didn’t hear anything.”

She reached out and pulled him to her, wrapping her arms around his shoulders from behind and pressing her face to the top of his head as they watched James and Teddy.  


“I found one of your books inside of a _folded_ pillow case in the linen closet this morning, any idea how it got there?”

Albus blinked, trying to remember.

“Oh! Was it _Gilgamesh_? I had it with me while I was folding laundry yesterday.”

Ginny laughed.

“That’s the one. My baffling child; I can’t take you anywhere.”

“Sorry, Mum.”

She kissed the top of his head and swayed him from side to side a little.

“Did you get a letter from Scorpius today?”

“Yah.”

“How’s he doing?”

Albus sighed, his good mood slipping a little.

“I’m not sure; he seems kind of gloomy.”

Ginny was quiet.

“Summers can be lonely sometimes,” she said, sounding thoughtful, “Especially when you live in the country. Even at the Burrow with your uncles I would get so lonely in the summer.”

“And he doesn’t have any brothers or sisters.”

He felt her chin in his hair as she nodded.

“I’m glad he has you.”

Albus smiled and leaned into her so that she would hold him tighter, which she did.

“Me too.”


	2. King's Cross Blues

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The kids set off for Hogwarts and Draco meets with Harry.

September arrived that year with hot unmoving air and dark-clouded skies. Lily kept looking up at them as they walked down the street to King’s Cross, perhaps wishing for a more auspicious beginning to her long-awaited Hogwarts adventure. As soon as they entered the station Albus began scanning the crowds of commuters looking, Harry guessed, for Scorpius. As was his habit James set off to find his friends on the train immediately after giving Harry and Ginny brief one-armed hugs. It was clear that he was still sore from their clash and his subsequent punishment; Harry was grateful for the arm Ginny slid around his waist as they watched James walk away. Ron and Hermione arrived with Rose and Hugo, dispensing greetings and hugs all around, and Lily launched into a low-level interrogation of Hugo as to his thoughts on their upcoming Sorting.

“You know it’s all nonsense, right?”

Hugo, who had always seemed a little afraid of Lily, looked uncertain and gave a nervous half-nod.

“I-I guess so?”

“It is,” Lily said, planting her hands on her hips authoritatively, “They just haven’t bothered to come up with a better way of organizing us, like, one that actually makes _sense_.”

Ron raised his eyebrows at Harry as if to say _well then_. Next to them Hermione and Albus were talking enthusiastically about a book; Harry had long ago lost track of which one it could possibly be. The train sounded its ten-minute departure warning and Lily gave them all joyful goodbye hugs before following along after Rose and Hugo. If his daughter felt any trepidation about leaving home Harry couldn’t tell, and the pang of loneliness he felt watching her go was tempered by it. Ginny was smoothing Albus’ unruly hair from his forehead and smiling. 

“I hope you have a miserable time and decide to come home immediately.”

Albus laughed and she kissed the top of his head before hugging him. Harry put his hands on Albus’s shoulders for a moment, feeling proud.

“You keep showing them what you’re made of.”

“I will, Dad.”

Albus turned his head, his expression suddenly brightening in recognition. Harry followed his gaze. Draco and Scorpius were being given a noticeable amount of berth as they moved through the crowd on the platform. Several people stared, a teenage boy pulled a little girl protectively away from them, and an old woman hissed at Draco as he passed with undisguised hatred in her eyes. Father and son both looked paler than usual, as though they’d been ill, and Draco was unshaven with dark circles under his eyes. Scorpius was pushing the trolley and hadn’t seen them. Albus raised his arm and waved.

“Scorpius!”

The other boy spotted him and looked relieved. Albus moved across the platform to them and Harry followed while Ginny waited with Ron and Hermione. While people continued to gawk and mutter Albus threw his arms around Scorpius, either oblivious to the atmosphere around them or ignoring it. Harry chanced a look at Draco wondering, as he had a dozen times, what his former nemesis thought of the unlikely friendship their sons had forged. Draco, however, didn’t seem to be paying attention. He was looking at the ground with his hands in his pockets as though he wanted nothing more than to be invisible.

“Dad, did you see Scorpius’ new hawk?” Albus said, indicating the bird where it perched in its cage atop Scorpius’ trunk, “Guess what its name is.”

Harry smiled and shrugged his shoulders.

“I give up.”

“Albus!”

Harry smiled and bent a little to look more closely at the hawk, which turned its head away from him with regal disdain.

“Really?” he asked, raising his eyebrows at Scorpius, “Was that a coincidence?”

The boy looked between Harry and Albus, turning red.

“No sir.”

“He named it after me,” Albus said, valiantly trying to bring some lightness to the proceedings. Scorpius smiled but was clearly uncomfortable, avoiding Harry’s gaze. Not wanting to increase the awkwardness of the moment Harry nodded, stepping back from the cage.

“Well he’s magnificent and I can’t help but approve of the name, seeing as I’m rather fond of it myself.”

“That is _so_ cheesy, Dad,” Albus snickered.

The train whistle sounded again. Albus turned to help Scorpius push his trolley to the train, giving Harry a quick hug as they passed. Once the boys were out of earshot Harry turned to Draco with a smile.

“Just when you think you’ve seen everything, huh?”

Draco finally looked up at him and Harry was taken aback by the troubled expression on his face. Malfoy glanced around them before speaking in a low voice.

“Once the train leaves, if you have time, there’s something I was hoping I could discuss with you.”

Sensing an undercurrent in the request, Harry lowered his voice to match Draco’s even as he kept his expression casual. 

“There’s a coffee shop across the street.”

“No,” said Draco at once, “too exposed.”

Harry glanced up to where the rest of his family stood further down the platform, waving at the departing train. The crowd around them had started to break up somewhat as people began to leave the station.

“Are you going in to work after this?”

“I am.”

“Alright. I’ll make up a reason to call you to my office and we can talk there.”

“Okay.”

They nodded at each other before Draco turned and made his way back through the press of people, accompanied by more hisses and muttered epithets. Harry guessed that this increased balefulness was due to the fact that Scorpius was no longer at his side, and wondered with a sense of foreboding why Draco’s wife had not been with them.

“Harry? Is everything okay?”

Ginny had appeared at his elbow, a questioning expression on her face as her eyes followed Draco. Ron and Hermione were a step behind her. Harry shrugged.

“Just talking about the boys,” he grinned, “Apparently Scorpius named his new hawk after Albus.”

Ron smiled thoughtfully.

“I’m starting to come around on that. Seems like them being friends makes a lot of sense to me now.”

“What do you mean?” Hermione asked, amused.

“I don’t know, like it’s the universe’s way of scolding us for despising Malfoy all those years.”

The other three considered this for a moment. Hermione looked mildly impressed.

“That was unexpectedly philosophical, Ron.”

He put an arm around her and kissed her forehead.

“I’ll have them put that on my business cards, ‘ _Ronald Weasley, Unexpected Philosopher_ ’.”

 

It was just past midday when Draco knocked on Harry’s office door. Officially he was there in a consulting capacity; Harry had invented a project which involved researching local Pureblood genealogy and had succeeded in persuading Draco’s supervisor to let him borrow her cleric.

Once Draco had come inside and closed the door Harry led the way through a second door to the inner office, which was where he preferred to discuss potentially sensitive topics. He also liked the inner office because it was windowed, even if the windows were not currently offering a very reassuring view. London was still sweltering under leaden skies.

They sat in silence at a black square table. Draco looked significantly worse than he had at King’s Cross that morning, his hands folded in front of him and his eyes unfocused. Harry made an effort to sound more confident than he felt.

“What was it that you wanted to talk to me about?”

Draco sighed, not looking at him. Harry noticed that he wasn’t wearing his wedding ring. 

“I have information,” Draco began, “on a possible network of anarchists.”

Harry sat up a little straighter, trying not to show his surprise.

“Do you mind if I take notes?”

Draco shook his head and Harry slid open a drawer in the table to retrieve a pen and small pad of paper. When he looked up again Draco’s face was turned slightly away from him and there were tears shining in his eyes. Harry cleared his throat as discreetly as he could and readied his pen on the paper.

“What kind of information?”

As though coming back to himself Draco blinked and fidgeted unnecessarily with his cuffs.

“Astor Greengrass, my wife’s uncle, has never been particularly shy about his views,” he raised one eyebrow with sardonic disdain that Harry knew well, “in the way of rich, well-connected men. It was something to brag about after dinner when he was in his cups, that he and his circle were ‘enlightened’. I thought it was rubbish until I actually met some of them.”

“What kinds of things did they talk about?”

Draco laughed bitterly.

“The stupidity of the English, mostly,” he sighed, looking exhausted, “But other parts, the ones that weren’t in French, started to sound familiar.”

Harry hesitated, glancing self-consciously at Draco’s left forearm.

“Like the Death Eaters?”

Draco was quiet, folding his arms across his chest.

“Yes. And no.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's such a strange thing sometimes writing for these characters (no pressure!), but it must be said, I love writing for Harry and just making him the best parent/person ever. Lol I don't care how realistic it would be for him to make big mistakes and be a jerk sometimes. Not doin' it.


	3. The Scholar's Trials

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys head back to Hogwarts, a school competition is announced, and Scorpius waits for a chance to tell his story.

Bad weather followed the train north, the clouds forming great swells of bruised color while the heat-heavy land begged for rain. In spite of what Albus had said in his letter it seemed as though fate was purposely conspiring to make sure that he and Scorpius wouldn’t have a chance to talk privately on the train. As soon as they had chosen a compartment and begun to settle in other students started coming to visit them, mostly Slytherins but a handful from other houses as well, congratulating them on the House Cup win. Max, Henry, and Chloe stopped to say hi, Andrew introduced them to his twin sister Ava, and Marcus and Bernard came to ask if they had any new strategies for extra credit and sabotage that term. Just when Scorpius thought the tide of well-wishers had finally retreated Albus’ little sister Lily and his cousin Hugo arrived.

“James’ friends are annoying and Rose’s are boring,” Lily declared without preamble, flinging herself into the seat next to Albus with a long-suffering sigh, “They’re looking at magazines and talking about boys.”

“Hi Al,” Hugo said, waving, then turned politely to Scorpius, “Hi. Is it okay that we’re here?”

Scorpius nodded, feeling Albus’ eyes on him.

“Of course.”

The younger boy smiled and hesitated before approaching and sitting on Scorpius’ side of the compartment, leaving an empty seat between them. Lily was already unwrapping one of Albus’ Pumpkin Pasties, slumped casually in the seat with one leg crossed over the other. Before anyone could speak she turned her gaze on Scorpius.

“I want to talk to _you._ ”

“Oh, um…alright.”

Albus and Hugo exchanged amused glances and seemed to settle in as Lily began questioning Scorpius about his experience thus far at Hogwarts. General discussion of classes and professors soon became thought-provoking to the point of bewilderment (“Do you think the House system is trying to teach us that people need to think of someone else as being worse than them?”) As much as Scorpius hadn’t looked for her company and was rather annoyed by it, he was also fascinated by Lily in spite of himself. Hugo, meanwhile, had said nothing and looked politely bored, smiling from beneath his dark auburn fringe when Albus tossed him a Chocolate Frog, neither of them looking particularly eager to join the conversation.

When the train pulled into the Leeds station their dialogue was suspended as Lily and Hugo got up to look out the window at the platform and Scorpius was left feeling somewhat buffeted, as though he’d just come indoors on a particularly windy day. Albus caught his eye and smiled sympathetically. Boarding began and Candy appeared at their compartment door, looking excited and taller than Scorpius remembered.

“Oh, hello,” she said as she came in, clearly thrown by Lily and Hugo’s presence. Albus jumped in smoothly.

“Candy, this is my sister Lily and my cousin Hugo. Lils, Hugh, this is Candy.”

The three exchanged greetings and after an almost imperceptible hesitation Candy took the seat next to Lily, who was watching her with a keen interest that made Scorpius’ heart sink. However, just when it became clear that Lily was gathering herself to pounce, Albus pulled her into a one-armed hug with a delicate combination of affection and anxiety. To Scorpius’ amazement Lily acquiesced to this silent prompt, leaning against him with a look of forbearance. 

“How was your summer, Candy?” she asked, smiling.

After a few minutes of small talk, during which Scorpius was profoundly grateful that the topic of his summer never came up, Candy began to tell them more about hers; about how she and her mother had had to move, her mother’s new job as a hospital cleaning lady, and how her dad had asked her about Hogwarts, unaware that her wand was hidden directly beneath him.

“So he doesn’t know you can do magic?” Hugo asked, his brown eyes wide. Candy shook her head.

“Why haven’t you told him?” Lily asked. Candy considered the question, her hands folded in her lap, and not for the first time Scorpius was jealous of her ability to be open with people.

“Mum and I have never really talked about it,” Candy said, “I think it might be because she’s not sure how he’ll react, and if he doesn’t take it well it could be really bad for us, like if he doesn’t want me to go to Hogwarts. It’s been really helpful for Mum to have me away at school during the year,” she looked up at them and shrugged nonchalantly, “It saves a lot of money.”

The moment was suspended in awkward silence for a moment before Candy cleared her throat and smiled.

“Well, Claudette asked me to come find her but it was really nice catching up. I’ll see you guys at the feast, and good luck with your Sorting,” she added to Lily and Hugo before scooping up her bag and exiting the compartment with a wave. 

“I think you scared her away,” Hugo said, raising his eyebrows at Lily, who threw an empty Chocolate Frog box at him.

The rest of the train ride proceeded without incident, and while the two younger children remained in the compartment with them Lily, mercifully, did not resume her questioning of Scorpius. When they arrived at the Hogsmeade station Lily and Hugo were shepherded away to the boats with Hagrid and the rest of the first-years, while the other students were bundled into horseless carriages. Albus and Scorpius managed to find an empty one, but just as Scorpius was beginning to look forward to a long carriage ride through the woods with Albus, Candy, Claudette, and Nerys found them and were soon clambering aboard, Nerys grinning mischievously at Scorpius as she sat down next to him. The carriage was so small that the five of them were almost too much for it, sitting along the sides with their knees touching in the middle. With envy Scorpius found himself thinking of the train and school staff charged with tending the multitude of caged owls, birds, and assorted pets during the journey and bringing them up to the castle. It sounded like a much more peaceful ordeal by comparison. Once they began moving Albus leaned forward so that Scorpius could hear him over the trundling rumble of the carriage and the girls’ excited chatter.

“Thank you for putting up with Lily, I hope she didn’t make you too uncomfortable.”

Scorpius smiled and shook his head.

“It’s alright, she’s…um…”

The other boy grinned, trying not to laugh, and Scorpius felt a pang of something like homesickness, which didn’t make sense given that he’d never been so grateful to get away from the Manor.

“I know,” Albus said, “growing up, it felt like she went from not being able to talk at all to _that_ in, like, a month.”

The road through the Forbidden Forest was lit by lanterns which hung from tall iron posts placed at mile-long intervals. Between the lanterns the road was lost in almost total darkness, with students laughing, making scary noises, and calling out to each other along the line of carriages. Scorpius was uncomfortably aware of the dark twin banks of trees stretching up on either side of him; for something that contained so much life the forest was profoundly silent. The clear night sky above them ran like a ragged seam between the treetops, full of stars. 

At the end of the road and the edge of the forest was a tall iron gate which had been opened for them, with four professors monitoring the procession of carriages, their lit wands held aloft. As his carriage passed through Scorpius could see that one of them was Professor Dalca, their Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, her eyes scanning their faces in concentration while the other three professors waved and smiled, welcoming them back. At the top of the craggy hill ahead Hogwarts stood waiting, its windows glowing with candlelight, and even though he was going to have to sit at the Slytherin table and live under the lake in the dungeons, the sight of the castle still stirred something inside of Scorpius, just as it had the year before when it had come towards him across the water like something in a dream. 

“Good to be back, isn’t it?” Albus asked the carriage at large, beaming, and while Claudette and Nerys agreed enthusiastically, Scorpius noticed that even though Candy was smiling, there was something guarded, almost steely, in her eyes as she looked up at Hogwarts.

A handful of teachers were waiting in the carriage house to accompany them to the Great Hall, and Scorpius was surprised at how happy and relieved he felt to see Professor Robins among them, even more so when she ended up being the one to escort his group. She was wearing her formal robes with her wild dark curls pinned back from her face, greeting all of them as though she’d spent her whole summer waiting for their return. When she put a hand on his shoulder and smiled at him, however, Scorpius felt something inside of him falter and it was suddenly all he could do to keep from crying. His distress must have shown on his face because he saw a flicker of concern in her eyes before she had to return her attention to the others, giving his shoulder a reassuring squeeze as she did so. Grateful that Albus had been too excited and distracted to notice what had happened, Scorpius worked to pull himself together as he followed after his best friends and the others.

The Great Hall was warm and smelled like baked apples and roast beef, lit by the flock of tallow candles hovering halfway between the stone floor and the starry night sky which concealed the rafters of the high ceiling. The Headmistress was seated at the center of the staff table, and was gradually joined by other teachers as the students entered. Scorpius hadn’t thought of food once on the train, but now it felt as though he’d eaten breakfast days ago rather than hours. Albus, who had been eating all day, looked down at his empty plate and sighed.

“How long do you think it’ll take the first years to get here?”

Candy, who was sitting on Albus’ other side, smiled and rolled her eyes, producing a small handful of toffees from the pocket of her robe which she placed on the table between him and Scorpius.

“Wouldn’t want you to starve to death,” she replied dryly when they thanked her.

When the first years finally did arrive, filing down the center aisle towards the dais, Albus sat up taller, craning his neck until he caught Lily’s eye and gave her a thumbs up. Professor Nejem was in charge of the Sorting and Scorpius felt a flush of embarrassment remembering the scene he had made the year before. The ceremony began, and when the fifth child in line was Sorted into Slytherin Scorpius was amazed by the enthusiasm of his housemates, almost all of them applauding or stamping their feet as the new student, a boy, came to join them. Albus elbowed Scorpius as if to say _See what we did?_ and cheered thunderously with each successive Slytherin, ignoring scattered boos and glaring from other tables. 

When it was Lily’s turn, the Sorting Hat deliberated for a second or two before shouting “ _Ravenclaw!_ ” and Albus laughed out loud, half-standing at the table until he spotted his brother across the room. James looked back at him with an identical expression of surprise and amusement, both of them cheering as Lily took her seat at the Ravenclaw table, their animosity seemingly forgotten. Scorpius smiled, looking between them, and tried not to feel left out. Hugo was sorted into Hufflepuff, which seemed to come as a much greater surprise to the assorted Potters and Weasleys. Even Hugo looked as though he hadn’t been expecting it, but Scorpius thought he could detect relief in the boy’s expression as he went to join his House (“I feel like I should have seen that coming,” Albus was saying seconds later.) Once the Sorting was complete, Headmistress McGonagall went to her podium and welcomed them, looking impressive in long black robes with her white hair in a bun at the nape of her neck.

“Before we proceed to the feast, I do have one particular announcement,” she paused, her gaze sweeping the room through steel-rimmed spectacles, “This summer your professors and I have worked together to create a new school-wide competition which we are going to pilot this year. We are calling it The Scholar’s Trials, and any student who wishes to participate will be given guides detailing extra reading, writing assignments, and other academic projects which they can complete for House points.”

Scorpius, Albus, and Candy exchanged uncertain looks, and ripples of whispered conversation were moving through the Hall. McGonagall held up her hand for silence and went on.

“The Trials are completely voluntary, and doing extra credit work for one class does not mean that you have to do so for all of your classes. You may complete as much or as little as you wish, but extra credit activities will be limited to the tasks your teachers have chosen for their respective classes. At the end of the year one student from each House will be given a special award for exceptional perseverance and achievement in the Trials. Starting tomorrow you may approach your teachers and enter the competition; they will give you your guides and answer any questions you might have regarding the work itself. Now,” she cleared her throat and gave them a rare smile, “I believe we have all waited long enough for dinner.”

Platters of food appeared on the tables along with pitchers of water, milk, and juice, greeted by a chorus of exultation from the students as they reached eagerly for serving spoons and thick warm slices of bread. As soon as his plate was full Albus began talking about the Scholar’s Trials, and from what Scorpius could hear it seemed to be a dominant topic of conversation along the rest of the table as well.

“I think they did it because of us, don’t you?” Albus asked.

“Maybe,” Scorpius said. Candy looked worried.

“It doesn’t mean we’re in trouble though, right? Like, they didn’t come up with this because they were mad at us, did they?”

“That might have been part of it,” Scorpius said, thinking, “They probably just wanted to make sure it was fair across the board to avoid people cheating and playing favorites.”

Albus sat up a little straighter, grinning around a mouthful of chicken and mashed potatoes. Scorpius raised his eyebrows, trying not to smile as he gestured to the other boy with his fork.

“Don’t look too pleased with yourself; this means that we’ll be fighting the whole school for points right away, and it doesn’t sound like we’ll be able to get off with dusting books and cleaning out Bumper’s hutch.”

Albus rolled his eyes.

“I know that, but come on, we broke the system! That’s awesome! Besides,” he added with a cocky shrug, “It’s not like they’re going to beat us.”

Scorpius laughed and Albus leaned against him briefly.

“So what do you reckon? Gonna do the Trials?”

“Of course.”

“Candy?”

She smiled, and Scorpius caught another flash of the fierce resolve in her eyes that he’d seen earlier.

“I’m in.”

 

Although he didn’t want to be Scorpius was disappointed and frustrated, with Albus as much as anything else. After waiting all summer to see him again, a million other things had come between them that day, demanding their attention. Towards the end of the feast and all the way back to the common room Albus had been pulled into a dozen conversations, mostly about the Trials with Lily, Hugo, and Rose making brief, enthusiastic cameos. Once they’d finally made it to their dormitory Marcus and Bernard were there braying about their summers and Scorpius left Albus to them, clenching his teeth as he went to his trunk. He changed into his pajamas on his bed with the curtains closed, suddenly exhausted as the hours and weight of the day settled over him.

In the room around him the other boys eventually began to settle in; he heard drawers squeaking against dresser frames, burning logs crackling in the fireplace, the door opening and closing as someone left for the bathroom, and then silence. Movement on the other side of his curtain was followed by a tentative whisper.

“Scorpius?”

Heart pounding, Scorpius leaned over and pulled back the curtain just enough to reveal Albus, standing between their beds in his pajamas looking apologetic, his hair a small dark explosion.

“Did you still want to talk?”

Scorpius nodded, not knowing what to say. Albus smiled and crawled up onto his bed, pulling the curtain closed behind him, then took out his wand and lifted it in a slow movement which took in the space between the wall, curtains, and the canopy above the bed.

“ _Silentium in hoc spatio_ ,” he whispered, and magic shimmered briefly in the dim light. “There,” he said, sitting cross-legged in the middle of the bed, facing Scorpius, “now we won’t have to worry about anyone hearing.” 

“What was that spell?”

“Pretty good, huh?” Albus grinned, sliding his wand back into his sleeve, “ _Standard Book of Spells_ , volume three. I knicked James’ old copy. Makes enclosed spaces soundproof.”

“Oh.”

They were quiet for a moment before Scorpius remembered why Albus was there, giving him his attention. Feeling humbled and grateful, Scorpius took a deep breath and began.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this one took so long. With NaNoWriMo and Christmas and everything else I let myself drop the ball, but I'm hoping to get back into my groove and see how this story unfolds. Thank you! :)


	4. The Bright Rainbow of Intimidation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Classes begin at Hogwarts and Albus, Candy, and Scorpius try to decide how they're going to handle their extra schoolwork. The professors for Muggle Studies and Defense Against the Dark Arts are introduced, and Albus and Scorpius overhear something in the library.

As excited as he was to begin the new school year, Albus spent the better part of the week trying not to give away how overwhelmed he was beginning to feel. It had started on the first day of classes when he approached Professor Gagnon after Latin and proudly asked for his Trials study guide. It was printed on stiff lime green paper in the form of a tri-folded pamphlet, and Albus had experienced an unpleasant internal tilting sensation as he opened the pamphlet and realized that the list of extra credit work took up the entire thing. Just as the Headmistress had said, the list was separated into three sections; Reading, Writing, and Practical, with tiny boxes to check off when they completed each item. Given that he had been telling anyone who would listen that he intended to do extra work for all of his classes, Albus had since collected Trials study guides for Astronomy, Charms, Herbology, History of Magic, Potions, Transfiguration, and Divination. Each guide was a different color and together they formed a bright rainbow of intimidation when he fanned them out on one of the common room tables Thursday night. Scorpius and Candy were sitting with him doing the exact same thing, and as the three of them exchanged silent glances Albus was relieved that his two friends looked less than confident themselves.

“Think about it this way,” he said, somewhat desperately, “How many people are actually going to do every single thing for every single class? It would be impossible,” he glanced at Scorpius, “Right?”

Scorpius nodded automatically, looking at his stack of guides, but Albus had the impression that the other boy wasn’t as concerned about the Trials as he was. _That makes sense,_ Albus thought. He didn’t know how to help Scorpius with what was happening between his parents, other than to do what he’d already done. It didn’t seem sufficient, but after talking that first night Scorpius had acted like he felt better, so Albus was resolved to be available for listening as needed. He couldn’t imagine what it would be like to have his mother walk out.

“We still need the guides for Muggle Studies and Defense Against the Dark Arts,” Candy said, her voice hollow.

“And we can choose extra-curriculars this year,” Scorpius added. 

Albus opened his planner to where his class schedule was taped inside the front cover and read the list out loud.

“‘ _Ancient Studies, Quidditch, Choir, Orchestra, Art_ , and _Basic Etymology of Western Languages_ ’.”

He looked at his pile of study guides again.

“Bloody hell, I don’t see how I’ll be able to do anything besides the Trials; the reading list for Astronomy _alone_ is completely mad.”

Across the table Candy sat up a little straighter, placing a fingertip decisively on her own schedule.

“I think I’m going to do Etymology.”

Scorpius and Albus both looked up at her in surprise and then, more guiltily, at each other.

“Really?” Albus asked, trying to keep his voice casual, “Why that one?”

Candy’s expression was shrewd, as though she knew exactly what they were thinking, and she folded her arms on the table matter-of-factly.

“It’s about language, and I need to get better at English and Latin if I want to get good marks this year.”

“Cheers,” Scorpius said, looking impressed, and Albus felt a great rush of affection for both of them.

“How about you?” he asked Scorpius.

“I don’t know. I already asked Professor Nejem about Orchestra but he said they already have three pianists taking turns. I think you’re right,” he sighed, looking over the guides, “There won’t be much time for anything else.”

Albus glanced across the common room to where Henry and some of the other upperclassmen were playing Exploding Snap and laughing loudly without a trace of anxiety. Bernard had taken one look at a study guide and groaned in defeat, while Marcus had rolled his eyes and muttered, “Bugger that.”

 _Maybe Candy’s right,_ he thought, _maybe they are trying to punish us._

 

Muggle Studies was a required class for all students, second year through seventh, and replaced flying lessons and Magical Theory. It was also the most controversial class at Hogwarts because it had two full-time professors, and one of them was a Muggle. Aunt Hermione had said that it was Professor McGonagall’s idea originally, and that she had spent the better part of five years developing a plan that would convince the school’s Board of Governors. Malcolm Asher was an electrical engineer and inventor who already held a handful of patents by the time he came to Hogwarts. He had been rendered impervious to the Anti-Muggle and Cloaking spells which protected the school and was allowed to live there like the rest of the teachers. His twin sister, Maxine, was a witch who had studied Magical and Muggle law.

Privately, Albus was hoping that the Trials work for Muggle Studies would be the easiest of all their classes. After all, he had been raised half-Muggle and Candy was Muggleborn. Of the three of them Scorpius had the least knowledge of the Muggle world, and as they entered the classroom and took their seats for the first time it quickly became clear that he was out of his element.

The Muggle Studies classroom was the largest in the castle; half of it was set up with tables and chairs in neat rows, while the other half reminded Albus of his grandfather’s workshop. It was filled with Muggle equipment; from where he sat he could see computers, laptops, coffeemakers, toasters, mobile phones, printers, and what looked like different types of engines. Looking around at his classmates, Albus noticed that Scorpius wasn’t the only one who seemed doubtful. 

Maxine Asher was standing at the head of the classroom in green robes and Malcolm was sitting on the teacher’s desk behind her in khaki pants and a dress shirt, swinging his legs a little and beaming at them as they came in. They both had dark brown skin and looked the same age, but beyond that didn’t resemble each other at all. Maxine looked cool and composed, as though she was about to address some kind of United Nations summit, and Malcolm was grinning like he’d planted Dung Bombs under their chairs.

“Good morning everyone,” Maxine began, “Welcome to your first Muggle Studies class.”

“In case you missed it, I’m the Muggle,” Malcolm said, raising his hand and waving, “Hi.”

Most of the class giggled at this, while the rest (including Scorpius and Nerys) glanced around first as though making sure that it was permitted. Maxine sighed and went on.

“For your first year we’re going to start with the basics of Muggle life; transportation, currency, government, and healthcare.”

“But don’t worry,” Malcolm added with a wink, “you’re also gonna get the fun stuff; video games, the internet, electricity.”

There was a smattering of covert looks and nudges among the students at this. Albus caught Candy’s eye and gave her a nod to say _we’ve got this_. Maxine was watching them as her brother spoke and for the first time the corner of her mouth twitched with the hint of a smile.

“For those of you who are already familiar with the subject matter and are perhaps worried about being bored, rest assured that there will be plenty to challenge you.”

Malcolm folded his arms across his chest and lifted his chin with a wicked gleam in his eyes.

“I’ll have you building circuits by Christmas.”

Next to Albus, Scorpius’ shoulders sank a little. He’d unrolled a piece of parchment to take notes but now he laid his quill down self-consciously, his golden eyelashes catching the sunlight as he lowered his gaze.

“It’ll be okay,” Albus reassured him later as they made their way to the third floor for Defense Against the Dark Arts, “They were probably exaggerating a little to scare us, and besides, we can help you with the harder stuff.”

“I didn’t say anything,” Scorpius snapped. Even though he hadn’t raised his voice Albus was surprised and fell silent, looking down at his shoes and hitching his book bag higher onto his shoulder. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Candy doing the same thing, her expression neutral.

“I’m sorry,” Scorpius muttered after a moment, his ears pink.

“Don’t worry about it,” Albus said at once, even though he didn’t really mean it, and the three of them continued on in uneasy silence.

While every other teacher allowed for a certain amount of homey clutter in their classrooms, Professor Dalca maintained a militaristic level of cleanliness in hers. Every book and instrument was precisely placed on dust-free wooden shelves set flush against the stone walls, and the tables they sat at had been magically fixed to the floor so that they couldn’t be shifted out of symmetry. The long blackboard she used was on wheels at the head of the classroom, flawless in its dark opacity, the length of each piece of chalk monitored to ensure maximum utility. Dalca was standing next to it at her desk talking to a fifth-year girl whose name Albus didn’t remember in what sounded like Russian. Their expressions were somber and oddly intense, both of them oblivious to the curious looks they were attracting from the students entering the classroom.

Professor Dalca’s wardrobe never varied, even on weekends, and always made Albus think of a ballerina crossed with a sniper. She wore canvas army-style pants, the kind with lots of pockets, tucked into black leather boots that laced halfway up her calves and had a special slot for her wand. Her tops were always black and form-fitting, and it was generally assumed among the students that she wore some kind of leotard. The ballerina aspect was further enhanced by her long limbs and the fact that her strawberry blonde hair was always in a tight bun at the nape of her neck. The overall impression was of someone who was ready to either fight or pirouette at any given moment, and she seemed to have a never-ending supply of harrowing battle stories. She was Romanian and had spent most of her life in various underground magical coalitions, combating everything from black market dragon dealers in Serbia to the Russian occupation of Ukraine. There was a rumor going around that she had been granted asylum in England because there was a price on her head, and she was thoroughly unimpressed by tales of the war against Voldemort and the Death Eaters. 

Candy, Albus, and Scorpius still hadn’t spoken to each other as they took their seats. After some consideration Albus had decided that maybe his attempts to be optimistic were a little annoying, but he was still confused and hurt by Scorpius’ response. _So what?_ He reasoned, _It’s not like he yelled or hit you or something, and he already apologized._ On his left, Scorpius was making a show of taking out his textbook and parchment while clearly more interested in Dalca’s conversation, a slight furrow between his eyebrows as he studied her face. When Albus glanced at Candy, who was sitting on his right, she gave him a reassuring half-smile but shook her head as if to say _let it go_.

The clock over their shoulders struck ten-thirty and the fifth-year girl collected her bag, bidding Professor Dalca farewell before walking briskly from the classroom without looking up. Their teacher watched her go for a moment with an unreadable expression, then blinked and seemed to come back to herself, pivoting smoothly to face them with her heels together and her hands clasped behind her back.

“Good morning” she said, her peregrine voice lending an odd music to the words, “As I hope you all remember, our focus last year was on protective spells and enchantments to avoid dangerous situations. We will spend your first three classes reviewing those, but this year you will start learning more active spells, such as disarming and causing your opponent to become confused. We will also be practicing these spells in a variety of simulations designed to test your skills outside of a classroom setting.”

A couple of people raised their hands to ask questions and Albus took advantage of the opportunity.

“What do you suppose that was all about?” he whispered to Scorpius and Candy, “With the fifth-year?”

“I don’t know but they looked worried,” Candy said, her gold-green eyes cutting sideways to Scorpius, who nodded but said nothing.

 

To their surprise Dalca let them go early, giving them an extra half hour before lunch. Candy went to find Professor Devereaux to ask him about study group, and Albus and Scorpius decided to go to the library to see if they could get some of the books on the DADA Trials reading list. As soon as they stepped into the library Albus noticed that it was unusually busy, with small knots of students scattered throughout the main floor. Many of these were moving among the stacks alone or in pairs, and Albus’ stomach gave a nervous flutter as he noted the tell-tale flashes of brightly-colored paper that most of them were consulting.

“I know,” he murmured when Scorpius elbowed him.

Madame Sylvestra came out from behind the circulation desk when she spotted them, looking put-upon in a baggy cardigan the color of wet sand. Her hair was as mad as ever and reminded Albus of a large potted fern made of cobwebs as she stood before them with her hands on her hips.

“I won’t be able to help you out with points this year, Mr. Malfoy,” she said in her low gravelly voice, ignoring Albus completely, “Library work wasn’t considered educational enough for the Trials, so I didn’t get to make a guide. I’m only allowed to give points for _good behavior_.” She made air quotes around the last two words with her waxy-skinned fingers and Scorpius smiled awkwardly.

“That’s alright; we’re going to be pretty busy this year as it is, but thank you anyway.”

Madame Sylvestra studied Scorpius for a moment, her expression unchanging, then winked at him and abruptly walked away. Albus had to stifle a surprised burst of laughter.

“She just winked at you.”

“She did not,” Scorpius muttered, catching the edge of Albus’ robe and steering them towards the books. 

“Did too.”

“It was probably just a weird blink.”

They were in the narrow gap between two towering stacks and Scorpius had pulled out his DADA Trials guide, studying it pointedly as Albus grinned at him.

“How does that work?”

Scorpius rolled his eyes but he was also trying not to smile.

“We’re looking for _The Well-Tempered Warrior_ by Constantin.”

Albus pulled out his own guide, still giggling.

“Get a lot of old women blinking weirdly at you?”

“Are you done?” Scorpius asked in exasperation, finally smiling.

“I’m done, and here,” Albus said, scanning the shelf above them, “is the Constantin.”

“Thank you.”

Five minutes later they’d found the third book on the list and Scorpius paused, thinking.

“We only get these for three weeks and Devereaux said Trials books can’t be renewed; how many do you think we can actually get through at once?”

Albus had been thinking the same thing and sighed, gazing up at the gold-embossed spines of the books which blurred together as they stretched on into infinity around him. A group of older boys were sitting at a table two stacks down from them, snickering and talking about girls, moderating the volume of their voices with limited success.

“These aren’t too long,” Albus said, holding the ones they’d found up to each other for comparison, “We could each read one a week, swapping them between the three of us.”

Scorpius looked doubtful.

“Do you think Candy will be able to keep up with that?”

“I don’t know,” Albus admitted guiltily, “but we should at least give her the option.”

“What about Candy Briar?” asked a familiar voice nearby. Albus and Scorpius both jumped in alarm and turned, looking between the shelves to where Cai Blevins was sprawled casually at the table, watching his friends’ faces carefully for their reactions. One of them, a rawboned pimply boy with black hair, looked quizzical.

“Which one is she?”

“Mixed. Second year.”

The other boys exchanged amused glances at this. Albus recognized two of them from Scorpius’ fight with Cai the year before. The black-haired boy snickered.

“You mean to babysit, right?”

Another boy, a seventh-year Gryffindor named Theo, rolled his eyes.

“You’ll be out of here before she’s old enough for anything.”

Cai shrugged, the corners of his mouth turning down a little.

“Nothing wrong with laying a little groundwork.”

Theo shook his head.

“Dirty bastard, just be careful with that.”

Cai grinned, and the conversation turned to other things. Horrified, Albus turned to Scorpius. Their eyes met and without making a sound they crept down the row and away from the boys. Once they were safely on the other side of the library Albus shook his head, still struggling to process what they’d just heard.

“Did he really just-? You heard that too, right?”

Scorpius nodded, looking as though he was going to be sick. Albus swallowed and took a step closer to him, clenching his hands into fists.

“We have to keep him away from her.”

Scorpius folded his arms across his chest, looking thoughtful and pale in his black robes.

“If we can.”

“What do you mean? We have to!”

The other boy chewed on his words in silence for a moment, glanced at Albus, and seemed to reconsider what he had been about to say.

“You’re right.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm trying not to get intimidated by all of the moving pieces in this story, I don't want to forget/neglect anything. This chapter is a little exposition-heavy but I'm reasonably happy with it and I wanna keep the ball rolling over here!


	5. Map of the Empath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Scorpius and Professor Robins meet to discuss his Divination lessons.

“Does Albus know you’re here?”

Scorpius stirred his tea unnecessarily, feeling guilty.

“No. He thinks I’m out training my hawk; Candy agreed to keep him busy with schoolwork.”

The lie was complex but ultimately simple. Albus didn’t know that Scorpius was at a Divination lesson, and Candy didn’t know that Albus was determined to keep an eye on her. Across the table Professor Robins took a bite of biscuit and watched him thoughtfully. The windows of her office were open to let in warm fresh air for the plants. She was wearing a red sundress and the color flattered her.

“Do you think you’ll ever tell him?”

“I don’t know, maybe,” he conceded, grateful that she hadn’t asked _why_ he didn’t want to tell Albus. Scorpius didn’t think he would’ve been able to say. “Do you think I should?”

She crossed one leg over the other and tapped the edge of her teacup with a fingernail, looking thoughtful.

“That’s entirely up to you, Scorpius, but I will say that everyone needs to trust and everyone needs to feel trusted. Just something to think about.”

He nodded but didn’t answer. 

“So,” she went on, her tone brightening, “Have you thought about what you might want to learn this year?”

“Um-” Scorpius hesitated and cleared his throat, “I guess, more of what we worked on last year, learning to control my Sight and, and stuff…” His voice trailed off and he could feel her watching him.

“Is there something else?”

A pregnant silence fell between them and he wondered how much she already knew. Her advice from the year before came back to him. _It’s important to let people speak for themselves_. Carefully, he told her about his parents’ argument and his mother’s departure. 

“I’m so sorry, Scorpius,” she said once he’d finished, her voice soft, “Have you heard from your mother since?”

He shook his head.

“No. I think she must still be in France with my grandmother, but I don’t know for sure. The thing is, when I was listening to them…I reached out to my dad with, with my Sight. But instead of just knowing what he was feeling, I felt it.” 

“What do you mean?” 

Scorpius looked down. His teacup was patterned with carousel horses, their open bridled mouths revealing blood red tongues and large square teeth. Abruptly he found himself remembering a rare outing to London with his father when he was very young; they’d walked past a carousel in a park and Draco had tried to persuade Scorpius to ride it with him. He remembered holding his father’s hand and being terrified when the large machine suddenly came to life, the garishly painted horses lurching up and down, looking as though they’d been impaled on their poles. Scorpius swallowed.

“I don’t really know how else to describe it. I…I felt scared, and confused, and…betrayed, I guess. Angry at her. But it wasn’t me, it was him.”

A slight frown line had deepened between Robins’ eyebrows and she folded her hands delicately in her lap.

“Was it similar to what happened last year? When you read Cai Blevins’ mind?”

Scorpius thought for a moment.

“I-kind of, I guess,” he blinked, “I had a flash of what was about to happen, like last year, but I wasn’t trying to See with Cai, and I didn’t feel his feelings.”

They were quiet again and Scorpius was relieved that Robins didn’t seem nervous or uncomfortable; rather she was deep in thought, the bright gauzy fabric of her cap sleeves rippling a little as a breeze moved through the room.

“What happened with your Dad, have you had any experiences like that since? On purpose or accidentally?”

Scorpius shook his head again.

“No. I…I kind of tried, the other day. Professor Dalca was talking to this older girl before class, in Russian I think. They looked worried about something but I couldn’t latch onto it; I’m not sure why.”

A flicker of poorly disguised interest in Robins’ eyes told him that she didn’t know anything about it either. It was gone as soon as it appeared and she cleared her throat.

“Language barriers can present a challenge sometimes; Seeing past them requires a different kind of focus,” she tilted her head slightly, “How would you describe the difference? Between being aware of someone’s feelings and feeling them yourself?” 

To Scorpius’ surprise an answer came to his mind almost immediately.

“Like being close to a fire versus getting burned by it.”

Robins stared at him for a moment and then smiled suddenly, bringing a hand up to her mouth. Somewhat thrown by this, Scorpius nevertheless found himself smiling back at her. She sat back from the table a little, shaking her head.

“I think I’m going to have to make a resolution that from now on I’m not going to be surprised by anything you come out with.”

“Why?” he asked, nervous, “Is...is it not normal?”

She held up a finger, as though a thought had just occurred to her, and got up from the table before going over to one of the bookcases set against the wall.

“Nothing’s normal. The gift manifests differently for everyone, and in a variety of combinations,” she selected a slim paperback and returned, sliding it across the table to him. The cover was white and had an odd cartoonish illustration of an elderly man with thick spectacles and a mortarboard pointing to an anatomically correct heart which was floating just over his shoulder in a small halo of yellow light.

“ _Map of the Empath_ ,” Scorpius read, “By Marvin Templeton.”

“I know it’s a little hokey,” Robins said, smiling, “but he’s actually a pretty good writer, and the only modern Empath I can think of who’s published. Take your time, see what you think; it’s definitely something we can work on this year if you want.”

“Thank you.”

It occurred to Scorpius that there was something else he wanted to tell her, badly, but the idea of saying it out loud was impossible. _You remind me of my mum_ , he thought, wondering if she could hear him. _The way she would talk to me when it was just the two of us._

He could feel himself blushing and closed his mouth tight. When he looked up at her she was still smiling at him, albeit more softly.

“You’re welcome, Scorpius. It’s a privilege to be your teacher.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I tussled with this one a bit, trying to work other plot points into it so it wouldn't be so short, but it was clunky and awful (must submit to the will of the story!) I also don't want to repeat too many beats from the Scorpius/Robins bits in Part 1, but it's kind of hard not to. I love their relationship and coming up with more Divination stuff :)


	6. Astoria's Interview

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hogwarts is looking forward to Quidditch tryouts and Scorpius gets an unpleasant surprise.

Monday morning dawned bright and cool with great white clouds drifting like ships above the castle. It was perfect weather for the Quidditch tryouts that afternoon, which seemed to be the dominant topic of conversation for every other person Albus encountered as he, Candy, and Scorpius made their way to the Great Hall for breakfast. Henry had swooped in on Albus and Scorpius as soon as they’d appeared in the common room and had sighed good-naturedly when they refused, rolling his eyes. 

“We need a new Seeker though; you’re really telling me that neither of you play?”

“I do sometimes,” Albus had said, shrugging, “but I’m going to be way too busy with the Trials.”

“I don’t play Quidditch,” Scorpius had said flatly, though with a hint of amusement, when Henry looked to him.

Henry had chuckled in a somewhat frustrated way, shaking his head and muttering about wasted talent as he let them go. Five other Slytherins had approached them with similar queries on their way upstairs and been similarly disappointed.

“How does it feel to let so many people down before breakfast?” Candy asked with arch humor as they took their seats at the Slytherin table. Scorpius smiled, spearing bacon onto his plate.

“Like Monday.”

Albus and Candy laughed, and for a while all three of them were happily preoccupied with breakfast as owls began to swoop in with the mail. Halfway through a particularly wonderful buttered corn muffin Albus became aware of an undercurrent running through the Great Hall. Small pockets of students were growing quiet, their heads bent together before their eyes drifted in his direction and they whispered to one another. The second time this happened he realized that while some people were glancing at him, the main focus of their scrutiny was Scorpius, who had pulled out a book to read as he ate and hadn’t noticed anything. Max, who was sitting nearby, glanced at them and hesitated for a moment before he got up and slowly came to sit across the table from them, carrying a folded copy of _The Daily Prophet_. His movement caught Scorpius’ eye, making him look up from his book. 

“Hey,” Max said by way of greeting, looking nervous, “Um, there’s something you should probably see.”

He unfolded the paper and passed it across the table to Scorpius. A large bold-faced headline blazed across the front page.

_MALFOY MARRIAGE NIGHTMARE_

_Exclusive: Astoria Malfoy finally speaks out on why she stayed, and why she left._

_By Lucretia Hardwicke_

The central picture was of a much younger Draco and Astoria, beaming with their arms around each other. Draco was wearing a suit and Astoria was in her wedding dress, looking like a film star with white roses in her dark hair. Slowly, as though he wasn’t quite sure that it was real, Scorpius caught the corner of the paper and pulled it closer while on either side Candy and Albus leaned in to read with him.

_The Greengrass Estate in Provence is everything one might imagine it to be: beautiful, elegant, bathed in sunlight and surrounded by aromatic gardens and lush fruit trees. As I walk the cobbled path to the house it is almost impossible to imagine that the inhabitants who breathe this rarified air experience the same fears and heartache that the rest of us do. However, that is exactly what I am about to find out._

_A sweet-mannered Muggle housekeeper shows me to a magnificently appointed sitting room full of pale wood and fresh flowers. The windows are open with not a curtain in sight, allowing the room to fill with late summer sunshine and the sharp, sweet scents of earth and vine from the family vineyard next door. My surroundings are so peaceful and lovely that it’s not until Mrs. Malfoy enters the room that I am forcibly reminded of the purpose of my visit._

_The woman standing before me bears only a passing resemblance to the former “It Girl” of Parisian wizarding society. A legendary beauty and style icon among the upper crust, Astoria has always been one of those rare women who is able to look effortlessly stylish and elegant no matter the circumstances. She greets me now wearing simple Muggle clothing, blue jeans and a grey jumper, her long dark hair in a messy ponytail. In spite of this, in spite of the years and the turmoil separating the woman she is from the girl she was, Astoria catches the eye at once and her sophisticated manners shine through as we take our seats at a small table._

_She is quiet, her vivacious inner light dim as she smiles and asks the housekeeper to bring us tea. The older woman briefly places a hand on Astoria’s shoulder before exiting the room, an expression of profound affection and sympathy on her face. As my hostess turns back to me she absentmindedly brushes a loose wave of hair away from her face and I catch a glimpse of darkened skin over her temple and along her jawline, both almost invisible due to the makeup that covers them. Astoria notices me looking and shifts uncomfortably in her seat. It occurs to me that in spite of the warmth of the day she is wearing long sleeves and long pants._

_“I wanted to have a chance to tell my side of the story,” she says when I ask her what she intends to accomplish through our interview._

_Among witches and wizards of a certain age there are few who do not remember the media firestorm caused by the announcement that Astoria Greengrass was engaged to marry Draco Malfoy, the notorious convicted Death Eater who had been released from Azkaban less than two years before. Most found it unthinkable that a beautiful and talented young woman with no shortage of professional and personal prospects would enter into such an alliance, but to hear Astoria tell it, the story seems almost blasé._

_“I was nineteen; I had just moved to London and didn’t have many connections here. I met him at the Ministry when I went to file my residency papers. We’d ended up standing next to each other by the fountain.”_

_She smiles at the memory, her sadness unmistakable._

_“I didn’t know who he was at first; I just thought he was beautiful,” her smile broadens a little and she shakes her head, “A beautiful and tragic young man, isn’t it always the way?”_

_While studying history and music at Muggle university, Astoria secured a part-time job at the Halcyon Boutique in Diagon Alley and soon learned the sordid history of the Malfoy family. Rather than being deterred by this, Astoria found herself irresistibly drawn to the ancient family’s disgraced heir, making overtures and inviting him to accompany her to social gatherings._

_“Of course I felt sorry for him. He had lost his parents and most of his family in the war, our world had cast him out, and the rest of his life was going to be overshadowed by a handful of mistakes he made as a teenager,” her voice rises indignantly and for a moment I see the woman who spent over a decade defending her husband and working to redeem the family she had married into. This flash of temper fades quickly, however. Astoria winces as she takes a sip of her tea, discreetly touching her cheek as she puts down her cup. Once again she is smiling sadly._

_“It was more than pity though,” she murmurs, “I fell in love. The more I drew him out of his shell the more I liked him. He was clever and funny and romantic in a way I never would have expected. I’ll never forget the night he asked me to marry him. I’d invited him to a uni Christmas ball but of course I didn’t expect him to show; he was so wary of strangers and crowds. When he arrived he was wearing his best suit and carrying a bouquet of snowdrops and pink hellebores. I didn’t want him to be uncomfortable at the party, so I suggested that we go for a walk instead. We spent most of the night walking around London in our winter coats and formalwear, me in heels with my flowers. I didn’t care; I never wanted to go home,” she laughs, “We must have been such a sight. He proposed in the middle of the Millennium Bridge and I was so surprised and happy that I screamed and threw my arms around him. The people walking past jumped out of their skins and hurried away from us.”_

_Over the course of their engagement Draco was given a minor position at the Ministry of Magic and Astoria graduated from university and began her career in historical preservation, specializing in magical and Muggle architecture and acting as an envoy to French wizarding society. The couple married and less than a year later Astoria gave birth to their son, Scorpius Hyperion Malfoy. Her whole demeanor changes when she speaks of her son; her mannerisms become more animated, her eyes bright and engaged. With great motherly pride she details his kind nature, his cleverness and talent (a piano prodigy taught to play by Astoria herself)._

_As she blossoms in the light of these happy memories, the words she isn’t saying seem to take up more and more space in the room. Almost two weeks ago Astoria filed for divorce and left her husband and son, retreating here, to her mother’s home. She’s taken a temporary leave of absence from work and not even her closest friends seem to know the full story of her sudden flight. When a lull in the conversation is reached I bring this up as gently as I can. She sighs, as though she’s been expecting this, slumping in her chair a little and wrapping her arms around herself._

_“When I first met him [Draco], it seemed as though the mistakes he had made and the punishments he endured had matured and humbled him. He was so ashamed of the hateful ideology he’d subscribed to. I truly believe that becoming a Death Eater is the single biggest regret of his life,” she hesitates, looking briefly to me for reassurance before continuing, “I believed that if he could see his life continuing, that if I could help him fill it with happiness, he could come back from the past. But he never really did.”_

_According to Astoria, as the years went by all of her efforts seemed to produce the opposite effect; her husband became increasingly withdrawn from both her and Scorpius, and resentful of her encouragement. He perseverated over the perceived injustices of his social status, his lack of professional opportunities, and the estate management plan put in place by the Ministry to preserve the Malfoy fortune for his family. These frustrations were apparently exacerbated by the passage of the HERA last year, which granted freedom to more than one hundred house elves living and working in Malfoy Manor._

_“They were practically running each other over to leave,” she says, “When we ran out of Floo powder they abandoned their possessions and Disapparated from the front lawn. Draco was furious to lose them but even angrier when I suggested that we adjust our household budget to contract with them.”_

_When I ask her why she thinks her husband reacted this way, Astoria politely deflects the question. As delicately as I can, I try to question her about the events which led her to seek an end to the marriage. She puts her elbows on the table and laces her fingers together behind her neck for a long moment, not looking at me. Finally she raises her head and sniffs. There are tears in her eyes and the poorly concealed bruises along her temple and jaw are more prominent._

_“It got to the point,” she says, her voice small and quiet, “where I dreaded Scorpius going back to school, because it meant that I would have to be alone in the house with Draco. He wouldn’t-I mean, things were better when Scorpius was at home with us.”_

_I ask her if she’s worried about her son’s safety now that she no longer lives in the Manor and to my surprise she shakes her head at once, looking confused by my concern._

_“Not at all,” she says, “Scorpius is the only person Draco truly loves. I think…I wonder sometimes if he feels that my being there got in the way of his relationship with Scorpius. That if I wasn’t around they’d have more of a chance to bond,” she shifts in her seat, a slight blush creeping into her cheeks, “My husband often seems to be more at ease when women aren’t around.”_

_The housekeeper returns to clear away our dishes and asks whether I’ll be staying for lunch, an invitation which Astoria echoes and I accept. Together they escort me to a dining room where I am pleasantly surprised to be introduced to Clemence Greengrass, a gracious and venerable woman who makes me feel quite at home. Lunch is simple yet delicious fare; fresh baked bread, the most excellent charcuterie I’ve ever tasted, cheese, and violet sorbet, all exquisitely paired with samples from the Greengrass wine cellar._

_When I ask Lady Greengrass how it feels to have her daughter home again her kind and serene expression hardens and her response is a passionate combination of French and heavily-accented English. From what I can make out she’s speaking of Draco, and it’s not difficult to deduce her feelings towards her son-in-law. Astoria looks embarrassed and speaks quietly to her mother in French but the older woman is undeterred. She looks directly at me and says very clearly, “He is no good. I keep my daughter safe away from him.”_

_Astoria apologizes to me for this outburst and Lady Greengrass swiftly chastises her for it._

_“You do not apologize; he must apologize.”_

_As much as Astoria tries to bring the conversation into more comfortable territory, the uneasy tension inspired by the mention of her husband never quite dissipates. Once our luncheon is finished I half-expect one or both of the women to offer a tour of the house and grounds (de rigueur for a piece like this) but mother and daughter seem quite out of sorts, almost gloomy, and the strain they have been living under for the last few days is painfully apparent. Not wishing to cause them undue stress, I thank them for their time and hospitality and take my leave. Astoria accompanies me through the front garden to the house’s main gate. As we walk she begins speaking of her son again, the subject clearly a source of deep comfort for her. I ask her about her hopes and fears as a mother, and she thinks about the question for a moment as we pause at the gate. Revitalized somewhat by the fresh air and exercise her color is better and she looks undeniably lovely, this world-weary but still young witch in Muggle clothing who twirls a fallen leaf between her fingers._

_“My hope is that he’ll be happy and diligent with his studies, and that I’ll see him again soon.”_

_And her fears? I ask. Astoria Malfoy’s fond smile fades, and the look of anxiety in her eyes is one that any parent can relate to._

_“I’m sorry,” she says, shaking her head, “I’m trying not to dwell on that; it makes everything so much harder.”_

_As we say our goodbyes, I’m grateful that Astoria has found a place where she feels safe, but I can’t help but wonder about the Lord of Malfoy Manor and the fate of his impressionable young heir._

The article had taken them to one of the paper’s inner pages. Here there was a second picture of Astoria by herself standing by the gate of what Albus assumed was the Greengrass house, because she was wearing the exact clothing the journalist had described and was holding a leaf delicately by its stem, strands of her dark hair caught in a gentle breeze as she gazed up at the viewer with a shy, vulnerable smile. Set into the corner of this photo was a smaller picture of Scorpius, who looked at least two years younger and was beaming one of his rare, unconcerned smiles. The real Scorpius was staring at the picture of his mother with a look of such naked distress and confusion on his face that Albus felt a profound desire to shield him somehow from the stares of other students, several of whom had noticed Max giving him the paper and were now watching for his reaction with avid interest. Albus touched his arm. 

“Scorpius?” 

The other boy didn’t respond at first, and then he blinked and shook his head. 

“I don’t…” he said, his voice small and lost-sounding, “it isn’t true.” 

Albus and Candy glanced across him at each other, and then at Max, who was still sitting on the other side of the table. A small mousy boy with curly brown hair, Max had dark tapered eyes, high cheekbones, a long straight nose, and a small bow-shaped mouth. He always made Albus think of illustrations where the moon is given a human face, and he was watching Scorpius with an expression of uneasy sympathy. 

“You can keep that if you want,” Max murmured, shifting awkwardly and glancing at the clock above the door. Albus followed his gaze and touched Scorpius’ arm again, giving it a tentative squeeze. His friend had become absorbed in the paper again. 

“We only have five minutes to get to class, mate.” 

The four of them got up from the table and collected their things, but it was obvious that Scorpius was barely aware of what was happening. He was still holding onto Max’s copy of the _Prophet_ , his mouth closed tight as he focused vaguely on the floor ahead of them. They were walking down the second floor hallway to Professor Binns’ History of Magic lecture room when Albus glanced over in time to see Scorpius’ chin crumple slightly as he walked. Albus caught his sleeve, bringing them to a stop, and Scorpius turned his face away from him at once. 

“I’m fine,” he said, his voice stiff. 

Candy and Max, who had been walking ahead, had stopped as well and were now looking at them questioningly. 

“You two go on,” Albus said. 

“What?” Candy asked, frowning. 

“We’re skiving off,” Albus said, feeling bold as he lowered his voice. Candy tightened her grip on her book bag and stepped closer to them. 

“Can I come too?” 

Scorpius still hadn’t looked up. His hands were clenched at his sides and Albus had the impression that if it weren’t for his fingers still holding Scorpius’ sleeve the other boy would have already fled. Max shrugged. 

“It’s only Binns; I’ll cover for you if he notices you’re not there.” 

“Cheers,” Albus said, and Max nodded before continuing down the hall. 

“Come on,” Albus murmured to Scorpius, who offered no resistance as Albus guided him back down the hallway in the opposite direction with Candy following. Doing their best to avoid the clusters of students in the halls, they ducked into a passageway that was hidden behind a suit of armor and led to an infrequently used tower just big enough to contain a narrow spiral staircase. There was no glass in the roughly hewn windows and the twittering of birds echoed in the dimness above them. Scorpius sat down heavily on the stairs, shrugging off his book bag and throwing the newspaper away from him with sudden violence, as though he’d forgotten he was holding it, before burying his face in his hands. 

Candy put down her book bag as well and leaned against the window ledge, crossing one ankle over the other. There wasn’t enough room to sit next to Scorpius and after a brief internal debate Albus opted to sit a couple of stairs below. After a long awkward moment Scorpius ran his hands through his hair and sniffed, the edges of his eyes starting to turn pink from tears. 

“It’s not true,” he said. 

“Which part?” Candy asked gently. 

“ _Any_ of it,” he swallowed, “He’s never hit her, and our house elves weren’t mistreated-” 

These protestations cut off abruptly and Scorpius put his hands over his face again, digging the heels of them into his eyes. Albus looked over at the loose pages of the newspaper, where he could see the picture of Astoria on her wedding day. 

“Why would she make it seem like the truth…if it isn’t?” 

“She knows he won’t come forward to defend himself,” Scorpius’ muffled voice was weary, “So she’s punishing him." 

Albus blinked. 

“You really think he won’t say anything about this?” 

Scorpius glanced up at him with bitter incredulity. 

“Are you kidding? _My_ father, speak out publicly to the press?” 

With a sinking feeling Albus realized that Scorpius was probably right, but the idea was horrible. Candy was watching them soberly, her arms crossed in front of her. 

“What’s she punishing him for?” she asked. 

Just as it occurred to Albus that he should help his friend deflect this question, Scorpius began to speak, explaining what had happened between his parents that summer and how his father had refused the offer to run away. Candy listened intently, the sunshine lighting her from behind like a burnished angel. It was too warm for robes and she was wearing a black jumper and green plaid pleated skirt with black knee socks and scuffed black loafers. When Scorpius had finished she looked confused. 

“I thought-I thought that the Death Eaters were gone.” 

“She said they weren’t Death Eaters; she was offended when my dad brought that up,” Scorpius shook his head, “but I’ve never heard of another group that would make him scared like that.” 

“Me either,” Albus added, “and my dad’s the Head Auror.” 

They were quiet for a long time before Candy spoke again, and Albus could tell that she was choosing her words carefully. 

“The article mentioned bruises…do you think those might have been faked for the interviewer?” 

Scorpius’ chin crumpled again and Albus watched in alarm as a tear ran down the side of his neck and into the white collar of his shirt. 

“I don’t know,” he said. 

“I’m sorry to ask, I just-” 

“It’s okay, I…I’ve been wondering that too.” 

The desolate expression on his friend’s face was making Albus’ chest ache, and he was grateful that Scorpius wasn’t pushing them away. Not expecting him to say any more, Albus was surprised when Scorpius began to speak again, quietly, more to himself than to them. 

“The worst part is that it is true, the rest of it…the things they fought about, the way my father’s been acting, but it’s all twisted,” he paused, “My grandmother’s never liked him, but I’ve never heard her talk about him like that. I just-” he stopped speaking and it was a moment before he could go on, “I wish Mum hadn’t done that.” 

“I’m sorry, Scorpius,” Albus said. 

“Me too,” Candy said. 

Scorpius nodded and sniffed again. 

“Thank you.” 

The three of them were silent for a long time. Albus felt as though he should say something else but had no idea what. More than anything he hoped that Astoria was lying, for Scorpius’ sake as much as Draco’s. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this one took me so long - I knew it was going to be an important chapter and I let the pressure of that psych me out a little. I spent a lot of time being intimidated by the idea of the newspaper article in particular (it's such a different style of writing) but once I actually got going I really enjoyed it :)


	7. Bad Press

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The fallout from Astoria's _Daily Prophet_ interview takes its toll, and Hagrid has an extracurricular opportunity for Scorpius.

In the aftermath of _The Daily Prophet_ article two things quickly became clear; that it didn’t matter whether Astoria Malfoy was lying about her husband, and that Scorpius wasn’t going to handle the situation well. Clearly aware of the scoop it had landed, the _Prophet_ turned the Malfoys’ divorce into an ongoing series of editorials, interviews, and letters from readers, each one more vitriolic than the last. Candy caught most of it through gossip and eavesdropping. Having never met Draco Malfoy Candy had always pictured a larger, older version of Scorpius, and the idea that he might be a monster was unsettling, no matter how much she tried to give him the benefit of a doubt. 

After their initial conversation about the interview Scorpius hadn’t tried to defend either of his parents. Instead he became quiet and tense, walking through the halls with his hands and jaw clenched as though he was constantly heading into a fight. As usual Albus did what he could to ignore the whispers and glances, to provide distraction and supplement Scorpius’ diminished happiness with his own, but it didn’t do much good. Whenever Scorpius went off by himself, as he did increasingly, Albus seemed more relaxed but also unhappy, as though his good spirits were a mask he felt he had to wear around the other boy. He and Candy would spend hours reading and doing schoolwork in the library without ever speaking to each other. Most of the other Slytherins avoided the three of them, the fragile House solidarity they’d developed the year before foundering underneath all the bad press. 

By the last week of September the anti-Malfoy undercurrent had grown into something more heated. A weekend edition of the Prophet had featured a lengthy exposé in which people who had attended Hogwarts with Draco were interviewed about his school days. The overall portrait was of a spoiled, sociopathic narcissist, feeding in to all of the coverage that had come before. People began calling Scorpius out in the halls and at mealtimes, becoming more and more eager to get a reaction out of him. For the most part the taunts were familiar but new ones had also come into play; “Daddy’s boy”, “Lord of the Manor”, and occasionally “Lady of the House” and “Her indoors”. These last two were usually said by older boys in a nasty, leering way that Candy didn’t fully understand until one day in Etymology class when Professor Gagnon was called out of the room and two fourth-year Gryffindors approached her.

“You know,” began one, “we always wondered why that Deb walks around like he has a poker shoved up his arse.”

Candy could feel the other students around them listening even though no one turned to look and she did her best not to react. The second boy leaned over her desk and winked, lowering his voice.

“Reckon that poofter’s gonna keep him even sorer now.”

Someone cleared their throat and the boys started, turning to see Professor Gagnon standing behind them. Behind his thick glasses his face was stony and red with anger, and in a quavering voice he ordered the boys to leave and not come back. The rest of the class, including Candy, was shocked into silence for the rest of the period and when Gagnon handed back their assignments he didn’t meet their eyes, his hands trembling. Albus had looked almost as angry when Candy told him about it later and they had agreed to not tell Scorpius, even though it seemed impossible that something similar hadn’t already been said to him.

 

The first Saturday in October found them sitting at the oversize table in Hagrid’s hut. Candy was making flashcards for Latin, Albus was doing a Trials essay for Herbology, and Rose was working her way through a sheet of Astronomy equations that made Candy’s stomach queasy just to look at. It was the most time she’d ever spent with the other girl and Candy couldn’t help but wonder if Rose would have been so friendly and at ease if Scorpius had come along.

“Not sick, is he?” Hagrid asked, looking worried. He was standing at the oven stirring a massive pot of pheasant stew with a wooden spoon the length of a baseball bat while Lily sat on his shoulder like an orange-feathered parrot in saddle shoes.

“No, he’s alright,” Albus said, “He just, um…”

“He just needed some time to himself,” Candy finished, and Albus glanced up at her gratefully. Hagrid nodded, his expression somber.

“Well, yeh tell ‘im he’s always welcome ter come ‘round; don’ need ter wait fer an invitation.”

“I will,” Albus said, managing a smile.

“Has it been bad for him?” Rose asked. Albus returned her gaze coolly, his messy forelock falling into his eyes, and there was an unexpected edge in his voice.

“Of course it has.”

Rose turned back to her equations, sitting up a little straighter.

“I was just asking, Al,” and then, more rapidly, “If you ask me he’s not helping himself, the way he’s acting.”

Albus bristled but before he could reply Lily spoke, looking thoughtful.

“How is he supposed to act?”

Rose opened her mouth and then closed it again, turning slightly pink. However, looking around the room Candy had the feeling that all of them understood what Rose meant. Even Albus looked more gloomy than mad. Hagrid cleared his throat, tapping the spoon against the rim of the pot before passing it to Lily, who promptly began to lick it clean.

“The _Prophet_ ’s ter blame,” he muttered, slicing bread, “Gettin’ people all worked up when there’s a kid involved an’ nothin’ proved.”

“Exactly,” Albus said, “No one’s even tried to be fair and say that there might be more to the story.”

“No one wants to call a battered woman a liar,” Candy said. She felt their eyes on her and shifted in her seat. “But it seems like they could just find some of their old house elves and ask them.”

“That’s a good point, Miss Briar. Alrigh’ you lot,” Hagrid scooped Lily off of his shoulder with one hand and set her down on the floor, “time ter clear off the table.”

“Haven’t his parents written to him yet?” Rose asked Albus in a low voice, the question almost lost under clatter as Hagrid and Lily got dishes ready. Albus shook his head.

“Not that I’ve seen.”

“He hasn’t said anything about it to me,” Candy said when Rose looked to her.

Once their books and papers had been returned to their bags Lily and Hagrid brought over the food. The bread was still warm from the oven and the smell of it made Candy’s stomach ache with anticipation as she took a slice. The idea that Hogwarts never ran out of food, and that she could have as much as she wanted, was still strange. It was one of the things Candy never talked about to anyone, the way she felt hungry all the time even when her stomach was full, and she was beginning to wonder if food actually had anything to do with it. Conversation drifted easily around her while she half-listened; they talked about Quidditch and the Trials (James hadn’t been able to come because he had practice and Hugo was working on a group project) and she participated briefly whenever their attention shifted in her direction. The four of them were family, and as they made references to jokes and stories she didn’t know Candy was aware of her separateness and wished that Claudette or Nerys had been invited. 

Halfway through the meal there was a minor interruption when Bumper made an appearance, landing in a bank of tall grass just below the nearest window. She proceeded to clean her bloody ears and rub her backside against the stone wall of the hut, which got Hagrid talking about his plans to begin saddle training her. Just as Rose seemed poised to express her concerns about this, his eyes brightened and he snapped his fingers.

“That reminds me,” he said, turning to Albus, “I was meanin’ ter tell Scorpius that there’s a falconry club startin’ up; thought he might wanna join.”

Albus blinked at the abrupt change of topic.

“Oh, really? Who started it?”

Hagrid paused for a moment, glancing down at the table.

“Mr. Waldroup.”

Rose, Albus, Lily and Candy stared at him incredulously for a moment before Albus laughed out loud.

“You’re kidding!”

A corner of Hagrid’s moustache twitched.

“I’m not, as a matter o’ fact.”

Albus and Lily continued to giggle while Rose looked bewildered.

“Why on earth would that maniac want to lead a _club_?”

Hagrid raised both eyebrows at her although it was obvious that he was trying not to smile.

“Rose Weasley you ought ter be ashamed. Jaime Waldroup is Hogwarts faculty an’ I’m sure he’ll do a…a fine job.”

It was Candy’s turn to laugh. 

“This morning he put three first-years up in a chandelier for running and left them there. It was an hour before someone got them down.”

“When does it start?” Lily asked. Hagrid nodded as though reminding himself.

“Six o’ clock tomorrow mornin’, on the west lawn.”

Albus was grinning as he shook his head.

“I’ll tell him but I doubt he’ll go for it.”

 

By the time Candy and Albus got back to the dungeons the sun was just beginning to set, making the depths of the lake glow like green pearl and the common room was all but deserted. Albus went to check his dormitory for Scorpius while Candy waited in the hallway. From behind the half-closed door she heard them greet each other, and then Albus’ voice rose in alarm.

“What the hell happened?”

Candy couldn’t make out Scorpius’ reply and there was a pause before Albus spoke again, sounding frustrated and resigned.

“Those need to get cleaned.”

There was the sound of movement from inside the room and suddenly the door swung open, making Candy jump. Scorpius’ left eye was swollen shut, the skin a dark purplish red, and there was a line of blood down the side of his face from a cut above his eyebrow. The right side of his mouth was swollen and bruised with a second cut on his chin. His uninjured eye found Candy and darted away just as quickly. Albus put a hand on his shoulder.

“C’mon, let’s go to the bathroom.”

A magical ward kept Candy from getting closer than a foot to the bathroom door, which hadn’t closed completely behind the boys, leaving a narrow crack of candlelight.

“It’s alright, no one’s in here,” she heard Albus say.

“Good,” Scorpius murmured, his voice thick, as though he was speaking around cotton balls.

Water was running and footsteps could be heard moving away, further into the room. The footsteps returned to where Candy pictured Scorpius standing at a sink and after a moment she heard a hiss of pain as Scorpius swore under his breath.

“Sorry,” Albus said, then, “ _Mundare_.”

“It’s okay.”

“ _Prope_. Did you get it anywhere else?”

Scorpius didn’t say anything.

“Were there any teachers around?”

“No. Saturday. Probably why they chose it.”

They were silent for a while. When Albus spoke again his voice was a little lighter, as though he was smiling.

“I can only imagine what _they_ must look like.”

“The same as always,” Scorpius’ words were clipped and bitter, “They got my wand first thing. Threw it down next to me as they were running away.”

“Oh,” Albus said, sounding deflated.

 

Neither of the boys looked surprised to see Candy waiting when they finally came out of the bathroom. The blood had been cleaned from Scorpius’ face and his cuts were closed, but there must not have been anything Albus could do about the swelling and Scorpius still looked ghastly. Candy hesitated and then carefully hugged him, hoping she wasn’t hurting anything.

“I’m okay,” he said, then, “Thank you.”

Since the wards kept Candy out of their dormitory as well they went to the common room and sat down at one of the smaller tables, out of view of the entrance and anyone who might come in. Scorpius sat staring numbly at the table, his pale hair wet around the edges and clumped back from his mottled face. As far as Candy could tell all of Scorpius’ clothes looked like school clothes, making it seem like he was always in uniform, and she wondered what rich wizards had against trackies. It didn’t seem fair that he had to go around looking like a prat while he was being bullied. 

“Do you think you’ll go to the Hospital Wing?” Albus asked.

Scorpius shook his head.

“Nothing’s broken and my teeth don’t feel loose.”

Albus frowned, looking as though he wanted to argue the point, but let it go.

“How was Hagrid’s?” Scorpius asked.

“It was nice,” Candy said, catching Scorpius’ eye when he turned to her, “He wanted us to tell you you’re always welcome.”

He gave her a weak smile and nodded.

“Maybe next time.”

Albus’ face brightened suddenly and he leaned in, putting a hand on Scorpius’ arm.

“Oh and get this; Hagrid told us there’s a falconry club starting up!”

Scorpius lifted his head, looking surprised.

“Really?”

Clearly enjoying the fact that he’d gotten the other boy’s attention, Albus grinned.

“Yah, and you’ll never guess who’s teaching it.”

When they told him, Scorpius’ flash of interest predictably turned to confusion as he looked between them.

“They’re letting that maniac lead a club? With predatory animals?”

Albus and Candy were still snickering when the heavy common room door swung open and Chloe came in followed by Nerys, who looked around until she spotted them and came rushing to their table, her hair swinging like a long black curtain around her shoulders. Her eyes widened when she saw Scorpius’ face and she gave a little gasp, putting a hand over her mouth. Chloe was standing with her hands on her hips, her mouth set in an angry line.

“What’s the matter?” Albus asked.

“You mean other than your mate’s face?” Chloe asked, raising an eyebrow.

“That’s what we were coming to tell you,” Nerys said, “Scorpius, someone’s vandalized all the pictures of your dad on the Quidditch wall.”

“What?!” Albus said.

Chloe lifted her chin authoritatively.

“I’ve already told the Headmistress. Looks like they took the pictures out of their frames, did their business, and then put them back in with some kind of sealing spell so they’re stuck to the wall.”

Scorpius had been looking down at his hands, which were folded in his lap, since the other two girls came in, his face blank. When Chloe finished he took a deep breath and got to his feet.

“I’m going to bed.”

Albus opened his mouth but before he could say anything Scorpius was already walking away from them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Moving along! I'm getting closer to the big chunk of this that I've already written, which is very exciting, and working things out along the way to (hopefully) make the story better :)


	8. The Hogwarts Falconry Club

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Scorpius considers his father's vandalized photos, encounters some surprises during Falconry, and picks his first task for the Scholar's Trials.

Scorpius was unsurprised to find Albus’ bed already empty as he dressed and collected his hawking equipment the next morning. As usual he found the other boy tucked into a corner of the common room windowsill reading by the dim underwater light of the lake. Albus looked up and smiled at him, his hair falling sleepily into his eyes. Scorpius experienced the inexplicable and contradictory impulses to both hug the other boy and walk away from him as quickly as possible.

“Looking forward to falconry?” Albus asked.

Scorpius tried to smirk with the good side of his mouth.

“Whatever Jaime says, know that my tragic untimely death wasn’t an accident.”

Albus giggled.

“I promise to weep over your corpse and swear undying vengeance.”

“Cheers.”

“Hey,” Albus went on, “Maybe when you get back we could work on Trials stuff.”

Scorpius’ heart sank. Behind on his regular schoolwork, he hadn’t done anything for the Trials since his mother’s interview had come out, passing the books he was supposed to be reading on to Candy so that she could have more time with them. It was obvious that Albus knew this even though they’d never discussed it.

“Sure,” Scorpius said.

The silence which fell between them was almost unbearably awkward and when it seemed that Albus might be about to get up Scorpius took a step toward the door and held up his hawking glove lamely.

“See you then.”

A frown hovered over his friend’s face for a moment but Albus smiled and nodded.

“See you.”

 

As he made his way through Hogwarts, Scorpius was at once relieved by the absence of other people and unnerved by it. The castle seemed watchful, like an animal holding still until danger passes. It was a sensation that Scorpius never felt when he was off by himself practicing, even though the secret wing was always abandoned and silent. He wondered if this was because it had been hidden for so long; if places could die just like people.

It was only five-thirty by the time Scorpius reached the entrance hall, and with a feeling of dismal inevitability he changed course and soon found himself in the long hallway where the history of Hogwarts Quidditch was documented. Along with glass cases displaying early uniforms and gear, there were portraits of each house team in green, blue, red, or yellow varnished frames. The Gryffindor section was first and Scorpius scanned the small brass plaques at the bottom of each frame until he found the team portraits for 1991 through 1996. The young Harry Potter looked almost exactly like Albus, and Scorpius’ grin of amusement was immediately followed by a wince of pain from his bruised cheek. Reluctantly, he went on to the Slytherin section.

A single glance told him where the relevant pictures were, because a piece of rough brown paper had been hurriedly sellotaped over each, most likely by someone who hadn’t had time to deal with the problem the night before. He peeled back the paper on one of the pictures until he found his father. Draco’s face was mostly obscured by a skull with a snake coming out of its mouth, the lines of the drawing thick and black. Scorpius noticed that the figures in the picture weren’t moving, and wondered if the vandalism had broken the magic somehow. The graffiti on the other pictures wasn’t particularly creative or surprising. In one it looked as though the vandals had simply gouged a fork into the photograph over and over until Draco’s image was reduced to shredded pulp. The 1992 portrait was the only one in which Draco’s face was visible, surrounded by cartoon phalluses and obscenities. As in the other damaged photographs the figures were still. There was a cruel glint in the child Draco’s eyes and a sneer twisted his mouth, but it seemed to Scorpius that every other face in the photograph wore a variation of the same expression. Looking at childhood pictures of Draco had always felt a bit like looking into an unpleasantly warped mirror for Scorpius. His father’s face was narrower, his brow a little lower, his attitude always either mocking or contemptuous. 

Astoria used to like to tell people that Scorpius hadn’t believed her when she first told him who the mean-looking boy in the pictures was and that it had taken the better part of a year to convince him. It had been the anecdote she most frequently used to illustrate the new man her husband had become. Even now it felt as though Scorpius was looking at someone else, at a cousin or his father’s evil twin. Reading his mother’s interview and all of the articles since had felt like that too, and Scorpius had no idea how to explain to people that the bitter, unsmiling recluse being vilified in the _Prophet_ was nothing like the bitter, unsmiling recluse he knew as his father.

When Scorpius closed his eyes he could still feel the echoes of Draco’s shock and pain from the night Astoria had left. In _Map of the Empath_ Marvin Templeton compared it to Lichtenberg figures, the tree branch-like scarring left on someone’s skin after a lightning strike. It was an apt image, Scorpius thought; he felt scarred. He wondered if his father did too. In a sudden rush of anger he tore the brown paper off of the pictures and crumpled it into a ball which he tossed onto the floor. Closing his eyes against the tears that had welled in them Scorpius turned and walked back to the entrance hall. 

The squat apertural stone tower that served as Hogwarts’ owlery was still night-cold inside, the floor littered with hay and droppings. Its occupants could be heard rustling in nests which lined the walls all the way to the ceiling. Scorpius whistled, scanning the rows as several of the birds shifted and hooted in annoyance.

“Albus?”

A moment later his hawk appeared, gliding down to him from the semi-darkness and alighting upon the heavy leather glove covering his outstretched hand. Scorpius gave him a treat before carefully fitting a small leather hood over the bird’s head. The early morning mist had mostly dissipated in milky light as the sky brightened above the mountains, and the ends of Scorpius’ trousers were soon heavy and wet with dew from the dark green grass. Feeling more than a little anxious, he made his way out to the west lawn. 

Two other students had already arrived, a tall broad-shouldered older boy and a skinny second-year girl with curly dust-colored hair and intense black eyes. She had a hooded hawk similar in size to Albus perched on her glove and the boy didn’t appear to have a bird with him at all, even though he was wearing padded leather armor from his shoulder to the fingertips of his left arm. Standing between them was Jaime Waldroup, who looked particularly wild with a week’s worth of red scruff along his prominent jaw. His small eyes had a fatigued, slightly mad air as they watched Scorpius approach and he was shifting from foot to foot restlessly, cracking the knuckles of his free hand. He was wearing a large flannel greatcoat, filth-encrusted boots, and his falcon, a great fierce thing, was unhooded and motionless on his shoulder.

“Hello,” Scorpius said to no one in particular, and felt like an idiot.

The three of them regarded him inscrutably for a moment, their eyes lingering on his bruises, and said nothing. Eventually four other boys approached, loping across the grass with their birds, and Scorpius’ sense of misgiving deepened. They were wearing Muggle clothing and heavy boots like Jaime, and all four of them had similarly short, bristly haircuts that emphasized the shape of their skulls. While he didn’t know any of them personally, the overall impression they made was tribal and vaguely delinquent. Scorpius recognized the boy walking at the head of the group as a third-year Gryffindor who’d gotten into a fistfight the first week of term. His eyes, which were a surprising aquamarine, narrowed in Scorpius’ direction. 

“Who invited you, toff?”

Both of his upper canine teeth were missing and his tone was aggressive. Scorpius’ hand tightened around his wand in his pocket and he felt Albus tense on his arm. Everyone was staring at him.

“Hagrid,” he said, hating how posh his voice sounded, “He didn’t say anything about an invitation.”

The boy, along with the rest of the students, turned to Jaime as though he was some kind of chieftain. Jaime’s eyes scanned the group before settling on Scorpius, again lingering on his battered face, and he gave a kind of shrugging nod. To his surprise Scorpius felt the challenge directed towards him slip away at once, and everyone’s attention shifted to Jaime, who cleared his throat.

As soon as he began to speak however, Scorpius remembered the other reason this had been a bad idea. He couldn’t understand what Jaime was saying. Albus had always said that it must be some obscure highland dialect, and Scorpius was grateful that his friend wasn’t there because all he wanted to do suddenly was laugh at the absurdity of the situation. Jaime was starting to demonstrate calls and signals with his hawk, and it was clear from their expressions that none of his new club mates were experiencing the same dilemma that Scorpius was. 

After almost an hour of instruction Jamie began to address them directly and Scorpius guessed that they were being asked to engage in some kind of practice, because the others were pairing off with each other and beginning to ready their hawks, spreading out across the lawn. Scorpius turned towards the curly-haired girl but she was already heading to an open patch of grass by herself. Just as Scorpius was about to do the same, the older boy without a bird approached him.

“Want to pair up?”

He was taller than Scorpius by almost three feet and spoke slowly with a thick Northern accent. His face was oddly unmemorable, symmetrical without being handsome, and he had the same short blunt haircut as the other boys. Scorpius nodded. 

“Sure.”

“I’m Edmund,” the boy said, holding out his hand, which Scorpius shook, feeling oddly formal.

“Scorpius.”

Without further ado Edmund turned away, leading them to an empty spot near the tree line and Scorpius followed, grateful to get away from the others even though none of them seemed interested in him anymore. Just as he was about to ask Edmund where his bird was, the other boy lifted his arm and gave a long piercing whistle, his eyes scanning the woods. A heavy beating movement of air could be heard from the trees, and then a massive bird was flying towards them. Scorpius took a step back and felt his mouth drop open as it spread its wings to land on Edmund’s arm. The bird seemed to be a third the size of Edmund himself, brown with a savage yellow beak and short white tail feathers.

“What-what kind of bird is that?”

For the first time Edmund’s face seemed to consider the idea of smiling, although the smile itself did not materialize. 

“Erne,” he said, then, “Sea eagle.”

With the same almost-smile Edmund stepped closer, holding out the bird towards Scorpius and gesturing towards Albus.

“It’s good to let ‘em meet.”

Scorpius removed Albus’ hood, uncomfortably aware of just how outmatched the hawk would be if the meeting didn’t go well. However, the birds regarded each other with quiet, mild interest and Edmund looked approving.

“Her name’s Brigid.”

“His name’s Albus,” Scorpius said automatically, then glanced up at the older boy self-consciously, but Edmund didn’t seem to have any particular reaction to the name. Instead he began to explain what they needed to do, so casually that it was unclear whether or not he knew that Scorpius hadn’t understood a word of Jaime’s instruction. The two of them were soon practicing basic flight and return commands and for the first time in weeks Scorpius felt happy, the flavor of it unexpected and welcome like the first time he’d tried sushi. The morning was still cool and, spread out across the wide green lawn, the sounds of the other students and their birds were pleasantly muted as though they were underwater. Jaime stood in the center with his hands on his hips, surveying the groups and occasionally barking out what sounded like general comments while his falcon circled overhead. Jaime’s behavior in general was perhaps the most surprising thing about the group, Scorpius thought. Out of all the students at Hogwarts these were the only ones he didn’t seem to loathe on sight, and they were the only students Scorpius had ever seen regard Jaime with real respect. Scorpius glanced over at Edmund and, surprising himself, asked, “Where’s Jaime from?”

Edmund blinked guilelessly. 

“The hills.”

Scorpius waited for him to go on and nodded awkwardly when it became clear that he wasn’t going to. He had become preoccupied with inspecting the feathers of one of the eagle’s powerful wings. Scorpius guessed that he was in fourth or fifth year, and had the vague idea that he might be in Hufflepuff. For a moment the temptation to reach out with his Sight flickered through Scorpius’ mind but he resisted it.

“Can I ask you something?”

Edmund looked up at him, waiting, and again Scorpius was surprised at himself. 

“I was just-um, I noticed that you and, and the others…all have similar hair, and I was just wondering…if that was on purpose?”

There was a pause while Edmund eyed the nearest group, two boys who seemed to be identical twins, as though he hadn’t noticed.

“Might be. Lads back home cut their hair short in the summer.”

The way Edmund spoke made every word sound carefully chosen and heavier somehow, as though he stood in front of a wide display case turning each one over in his hands before selecting it. Scorpius genuinely didn’t know what to make of him but nodded again, considering this answer. Jaime clapped his hands above his head sharply three times to call them to him and Edmund sent Brigid back to the woods with a click of his tongue before he and Scorpius went to join the others. As before, without using his Sight Scorpius could only guess at what Jaime was telling them. Even though his expression was still grimly manic, Scorpius sensed that he was satisfied with their performance, and the mood among the other students supported this idea. When the meeting had ended and the others began to turn back towards the castle, Edmund inclined his head slightly in Scorpius’ direction.

“Sunday after next then.”

 

Hogwarts was fully awake by the time Scorpius returned from the owlery and it was obvious that the news of Draco’s vandalized photographs was now common knowledge. A cluster of girls were hovering near the entrance to the Quidditch hallway, whispering and nudging each other as he crossed the foyer. Even though he hadn’t had breakfast and his stomach was growling, Scorpius set his teeth and continued on to the dungeons.

It was early enough that most people were still either eating or sleeping, but there were a few students in the common room already starting the homework they’d been putting off during the week. Albus spotted him at once, perking up and smiling from their favorite table by the fireplace where he and Candy were surrounded by books and paper. Again Scorpius thought guiltily of finding an excuse to avoid him. Being friends with Albus was like having a puppy at his heels sometimes, full of energy and trying to get him to play, especially, it seemed, when Scorpius wasn't in the mood. Scorpius nodded and smiled at them, indicating that he was going to go to the bathroom first.

Standing at the sink he washed and dried his face as best he could, the slightest touch to his bruises making him wince. He studied his face in the mirror, trying to find the image of Draco that he’d stared at earlier. With the bruises and his swollen eye there was only a passing resemblance. Scorpius turned his head to the side, contemplating his hair, which was mussed from being outdoors, its color distinctive as a national flag. After getting his book bag from the dormitory he returned to the common room. The other Slytherins forcibly ignored him for the most part. It was an odd kind of disdain, he thought, half disappointed and half embarrassed. Albus beamed at him as he approached the table.

“You survived!”

Scorpius smiled without effort.

“I suppose I did.”

“How was it?” Candy asked.

“Not bad actually,” Scorpius said as he pulled out a chair and sat down. Albus placed two cheddar and bacon scones on a napkin in front of him.

“Thank you,” Scorpius murmured, and the other boy’s smile was sympathetic. As he got out his books Scorpius told them about the lesson, and as he had expected they both dissolved into giggles when he described Jaime’s incomprehensible teaching and the initial challenge he’d received from the third-year boy. Albus nodded knowingly.

“I think I’ve heard James talk about him; he was in a Muggle reformatory or something before coming to Hogwarts.”

Candy shook her head, turning back to the heavy ancient book that was open in front of her.

“That’s the dictionary I gave you, isn’t it?” Scorpius asked, “Has it been helpful?”

She nodded.

“Loads. I’ve been using it to go between Spanish, English and Latin for words I don’t know.”

Scorpius raised his eyebrows. And winced.

“That sounds like a lot of work.”

“It is, but since I’m working on English and Latin at the same time Devereaux says it’ll help for me to find similarities between the languages, like, how the words are put together.”

“Well you’re certainly putting both of us to shame,” Albus said, and Scorpius nodded in agreement. Candy smiled, blushing a little.

Scorpius thumbed through the stack of Trials guides that he hadn’t so much as looked at in weeks, pausing at the one for Muggle Studies. Scanning through the list of Practical Tasks, one in particular caught his attention.

_10\. With a professor's supervision, demonstrate proficient use of one Muggle appliance._

As he tried to mentally recall some of the items he’d seen around the Muggle Studies classroom Scorpius suddenly had an idea and, with a mounting sense of resolve, circled the task with his quill.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ugh. Considering that I had a good chunk already written it's shameful how long this chapter took me, but I finally got it to a place where I'm reasonably satisfied, so yippee! In case you can't tell I know almost nothing about falconry but I sure love the idea of it, and of putting Scorpius in a new/unexpected social situation.


	9. Muggle Studies Makeover

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Scorpius completes his first task for the Scholar's Trials with help from Albus and their Muggle Studies professors. Albus and James have a confrontation.

Albus was less than enthusiastic about the number of students in the Muggle Studies classroom when he and Scorpius arrived there after dinner on Wednesday. In the more formal half of the room Professor Maxine was leading a group discussion on investment portfolios with a handful of seventh years, and on the workshop side most of the tables were occupied by students of different years and Houses either taking things apart or putting them back together while Professor Malcolm wandered jovially among them, providing comment and instruction. A pair of Gryffindor boys Albus recognized as being in James’ year glanced up at him pointedly. Albus turned his head towards Scorpius under the pretense of checking his watch. 

“Are you sure you wanna go through with this?” he muttered.

Scorpius looked a little nervous but nodded firmly. The swelling in his face had finally gone down but the bruises had entered their sickly greenish yellow phase, making sure that no one would forget his fight anytime soon. In spite of the other boy’s distance over the past weeks Albus couldn’t help but feel proud of Scorpius as he led the way into the room, his head held high. Malcolm came over to them with a wide smile. He was wearing the T-shirt of a band Albus had never heard of and half a dozen wooden bead bracelets clacked down his wrist as he raised a hand in greeting.

“Hey, welcome to the madhouse, you’re here for task ten, right?”

“Yes sir,” Scorpius said, and Albus nodded. Malcolm put one hand in the pocket of his jeans and gestured with the other to the shelves of appliances along the walls.

“Well feel free to browse, did you have an idea of what you wanted to try?”

Scorpius, who was already scanning the shelves with interest, maneuvered around one of the tables (where a fifth-year boy was looking particularly intimidated by a calculator) to get a closer look. Albus spotted the box labeled “Home Barber Kit” a second before Scorpius reached out and selected it.

“This one,” he said, turning and holding up the box.

Malcolm raised his eyebrows and it was obvious that he was trying not to laugh.

“Lookin’ to trim that beard, huh?”

“No sir,” Scorpius said, apparently ignoring the joke, “I’d like to cut my hair.”

Their professor’s amusement softened a little and he rolled his eyes.

“Yah, I figured,” he frowned, “this haircut of yours, are we talkin’ a trim, or-”

Scorpius shook his head, looking as though he was bracing himself for refusal.

“No sir, I’d like to shave it all off,” he paused, turning slightly pink, “please.”

There was a brief silence while Malcolm stared at Scorpius, looking thoughtful, and then shifted from one foot to the other, glancing around at their less than private surroundings.

“See this is why we gotta get electricity in more rooms,” he said, more to himself than to them.

“I don’t care,” Scorpius said at once, obviously lying, and Malcolm turned back to him.

“You sure man? I’d say we could reschedule for the weekend, but it’s pretty busy in here then too.”

“I’m sure.”

Malcolm seemed to consider the issue a moment longer then shrugged, the mischievous glint returning to his eyes.

“Alright, let’s do this.”

As usual he shifted easily into action, leading them to the back corner of the workshop where his cluttered desk was half-hidden behind a small kitchenette area and surveyed the space before pulling out his chair.

“It’s a little quieter back here at least,” he put his hands on his hips, abruptly professorial, “Now, Scorpius, you’ve got that box in your hands, what are you going to do with it first?”

Scorpius stood up a little straighter and looked down at the box.

“I’m going to open it and take out the, um, the items.”

Malcolm nodded encouragingly.

“Anything else?”

“The instructions; Muggle appliances come with instructions on how to operate them.”

Albus bit the inside of his lip to keep from giggling. Malcolm leaned against his desk, folding his arms across his chest.

“When you’re looking through those instructions, what’s the first thing you should check?”

Scorpius thought for a moment, the space between his eyebrows creasing, and his answer was less certain.

“That all the pieces of the appliance are there and nothing’s broken or missing.”

“Why is that important?”

“Because otherwise the appliance might be dangerous or not work correctly.”

Malcolm smiled at him and straightened up.

“Very good Mr. Malfoy, now while you’re doing that,” he turned towards Albus, “What did you have in mind for your task?”

Having momentarily forgotten that he wasn’t just there for moral support, Albus started.

“Oh, um, we were thinking that maybe I could use a hand vac or something to clean up the hair after.”

The Muggle narrowed his eyes, looking both amused and skeptical.

“And that’s something you don’t have a whole lot of experience with, right?”

Albus opened his mouth, trying to think quickly, and Malcolm chuckled.

“I’m just playin’. I’ll be back to check on you two in a minute; I’ll bring a mirror.”

As he walked away from them Albus turned back to where Scorpius was standing on the other side of Malcolm’s desk. True to his word he was taking every item out of the box, including the ones Albus didn’t think they would need, and was meticulously arranging them by size and type on the desk, consulting the small black and white pictures in the instruction booklet as he did so. Albus watched him for a moment and then spoke, gesturing to the electric trimmer.

“It’s probably not going to be very easy, is it? Cutting your own hair with one of those when you’ve never used one before?”

Scorpius glanced up at him, his smile catching Albus off-guard.

“Is this your pep talk?”

Albus grinned back at him.

“No, I mean, kind of, what I was getting at was wouldn’t it be easier to cut somebody else’s hair instead of your own? Like, for example…mine.”

Scorpius frowned at him and Albus went on in a rush.

“I know Professor Malcolm said it didn’t matter but he was right; I use hand vacs all the time at home but I’ve never used one of these. You can cut my hair and I’ll cut yours, plus I’ll still do the cleaning up.”

“So you’re saying…you want to cut off all your hair too?”

Albus ruffled the hair at the back of his own head, trying not to feel self-conscious.

“It’s the only thing I haven’t tried to make it less of a disaster.”

“You’re serious.”

“Yah, I am.”

Scorpius put down the instructions, his expression unreadable.

“Why do you want to do this?”

Albus opened his mouth to say _I just told you_ but closed it again, knowing that Scorpius wanted a better answer than that. He thought for a moment before answering.

“When you first told me about this, you said you wanted to do it cuz you were sick of looking like your dad.”

Scorpius shifted uncomfortably but gave a small nod. From the kitchenette behind him Albus heard a microwave beep into life and half-turned to see a third-year girl putting in a packet of popcorn, looking bored. He turned back to Scorpius and lowered his voice.

“I just…I know what that’s like. I get sick of looking like my dad sometimes too.”

Albus braced himself for sarcasm but Scorpius just watched him, an odd vulnerability in his eyes.

“Why?” he asked.

Albus considered the question, wishing he’d practiced his answer to it. Before he could formulate what he wanted to say Malcolm came back over to them, holding the kind of round two-sided mirror Albus always saw at the makeup counters in department stores.

“How’s it going over here? You ready to get shorn?”

“Actually,” Scorpius began, looking to Albus as he said it, “We both want to do it. I’ll cut his hair and then he’ll cut mine.”

Malcolm looked between them.

“I’m not gonna get angry letters from your parents for letting you do this, am I?”

“No sir,” they said in unison.

“Cuz if I do I’m gonna say that you mind-controlled me with your wizard powers.”

They both laughed and Malcolm clapped his hands together enthusiastically, turning to Scorpius.

“You’ve got this set up nice, everything seem good to go?”

Scorpius picked up the instructions again.

“I think so, sir. It looks like the next step is to make sure the battery in the, um, _handset_ is fully charged,” he looked over the items on the table and found the end of the power cord for the charging dock, holding it up delicately in his long fingers as though it was a dead snake, “So I’m going to locate a power outlet in the wall and plug this into it.”

Albus was trying very hard not to laugh again as Scorpius proceeded with the task, his affection for the other boy so profound that for a moment it seemed to be sucking in the oxygen around him. He wished that Candy had been able to come so they could enjoy watching Scorpius navigate technology together, but she had tutoring and the only reason he’d felt comfortable leaving her side was the knowledge that she would be with Professor Devereaux. 

When it was time to begin Malcolm stacked a few large books on the chair so that when Albus carefully sat down on them the top of his head was level with Scorpius’ eyes, which were rather wide suddenly as he glanced between Albus’ hair and the clippers in his hand.

“You’re gonna do fine, don’t worry,” Albus said, even though he was beginning to have second thoughts as well. Malcolm had produced a flannel shirt from somewhere to drape over Albus’ chest and shoulders. He was leaning against the desk again and nodded at Scorpius.

“This is why I’m here; I won’t walk away ‘til I know you’ve got the hang of it.”

Scorpius took a deep breath and met Albus’ eyes for a moment before turning back to the instructions. He jumped hilariously when the clippers came on and Albus made a fervent vow to himself that no matter what his hair came out looking like he would tell Scorpius that it was great. In spite of Malcolm’s efforts to sequester them Albus was still forcibly aware that they were being observed, a sense which intensified palpably as Scorpius stepped to the chair and reached up to hold Albus’ head steady. Malcolm walked around the chair to stand behind Scorpius, talking him through his first pass with the clippers. A great chunk of Albus’ thick black hair tumbled down onto the floor and Scorpius watched it fall, holding the clippers well away from Albus’ head.

“I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

At once touched and amused by his concern Albus grinned and shook his head.

“Didn’t feel a thing.”

Scorpius looked reassured and went back to work. After a few more passes Malcolm nodded, looking genuinely impressed.

“You feel like you got this?”

Scorpius smiled.

“I think so.”

“How about you Potter, doin’ okay?”

“Never better.”

“Okay, well if it’s alright with you two I’m gonna make my rounds,” he turned to Scorpius, “If you get to a part you’re not sure about just skip it and wait ‘til I come back, okay?”

“Yes sir.”

Once Malcolm had walked away from them Scorpius resumed cutting, gradually moving out of Albus’ view as he worked on the back of his head. Albus could feel Scorpius’ fingertips pressing gently against his scalp and the clippers tickled pleasantly as they buzzed away the hair that was starting to pile on the floor and in his lap.

“You didn’t get a chance to tell me before,” Scorpius said, his words halting a little the way they did when he was concentrating on multiple things at once, “why you don’t like looking like your dad sometimes.”

“Oh, right,” Albus muttered, feeling awkward and half-wishing that Scorpius hadn’t remembered, “I just…I guess it’s that when most people look at me, in our world anyway, they know I’m a Potter, and they always think they know what that means.”

Scorpius chuckled.

“That you’re noble and kind and obsessed with doing the right thing? Those presumptive fools.”

Albus rolled his eyes and reached back to swat the other boy, who dodged him, still laughing.

“Shut up; you know what I mean.”

“I do.”

Scorpius had come around to where Albus could see him again; his large grey eyes narrowed a little as he pushed the hair back from Albus’ forehead with the clippers but it also seemed as though he was finally having some fun, smiling every now and then like he was trying not to. He worked in silence for a few more minutes, carefully folding over the edges of Albus’ ears to shave around them, then doing what felt like little touch ups here and there all over Albus’ head. Finally he took a step back and a small surprised laugh escaped him as he looked Albus over.

“What? How is it?” Albus asked, looking for the mirror on Malcolm’s desk. Scorpius passed it to him and Albus caught his own eyes widening in the reflection. It didn’t look too much different than he had expected, but the reality of it was startling all the same. Dark grey bristly stubble was all that was left of his hair and he wasn’t quite sure how he felt about it.

“What do you think?” Scorpius asked.

Albus considered for a moment, reminding himself to smile.

“My head looks really round.”

Scorpius grinned tentatively.

“Shame about the ears.”

“Shut up, they’re not that bad.”

Albus had never been bothered by the fact that his ears stuck out a bit, but without his hair they were the first thing he noticed about himself; from the front they almost looked pointed and if it wasn’t for Scorpius’ obvious amusement he thought that he would have been much more annoyed by it.

“I like them,” Scorpius said, reaching out and flicking one playfully. Albus grinned and batted his hand away.

“Sod off. It’s your turn next; we’ll see how much you’re laughing when it turns out you’ve got a big birthmark or something.”

Scorpius lifted his head in a decidedly aristocratic way.

“Never; I’m far too well-bred for something as common as birthmarks.”

Albus laughed out loud as he pulled the flannel shirt off of his shoulders and shook out the hair onto the floor. The Gryffindor boys on the other side of the workshop were staring openly at them now, leaning across the table to talk to each other, their voices audible. Albus tried not to look in their direction. 

“Is that even a thing?” he asked Scorpius, “Being too well-bred for birthmarks?”

“Probably not.”

The other boy smiled but Albus could tell that even though he wasn’t facing them, Scorpius was just as aware of their audience. The mood was lightened substantially when Malcolm came back; clapping his hands together and looking delighted. He walked around Albus, inspecting the job.

“This looks real good man, how do you feel?”

Albus ran his hand back and forth over the nape of his neck.

“My head feels a lot colder,” then, remembering his vow, “I like it.”

Malcolm turned and fist-bumped Scorpius.

“Seriously though, this is great for your first time out.”

Scorpius blushed modestly, smiling.

“Thank you, sir.”

Albus slid off the stack of books and tossed the flannel shirt to Scorpius with a wink. 

“You’re up.”

Even though his smile faltered a little, Scorpius resolutely mounted the stack of books and draped the shirt over himself. While Albus and Malcolm prepped the clippers he waited silently, and whenever Albus glanced at him out of the corner of his eye the other boy was staring down at his lap, his expression tense. When they turned to him however, he lifted his head and smiled. As before, Malcolm supervised for the first few minutes and Albus managed to keep himself from laughing when Scorpius flinched just before the first pass with the clippers. By the time Malcolm left them Scorpius seemed to have relaxed and Albus was having more fun than seemed appropriate to admit, considering his friend’s obvious mixed emotions. Scorpius’ hair was much finer than his and cut quickly, looking feather-white as it joined Albus’ on the floor. 

“Have you found that birth mark yet?” Scorpius asked, half-smiling.

Albus gave an exaggerated, put-upon sigh.

“Of course not. And your ears are perfect too.”

Scorpius laughed weakly and Albus resisted the urge to hug him as he started working on the back of his head. The classroom was finally emptying out a bit; the seventh-year students were leaving and the Gryffindors looked as though they were starting to clean up their projects. Malcolm returned with Maxine, almost walking backwards as he approached the desk so that he could see her reaction, and began to laugh when she raised her eyebrows in a kind of delicate surprise.

“For God’s sake Mal…”

“What? It was their idea!”

Maxine sighed in exasperation, adjusting her glasses and folding her arms across her chest.

“Did the two of you get permission from your parents to do this?”

“No ma’am,” Albus answered as he made a line with the clippers back from Scorpius’ forehead, “but my hair grows insanely fast; by summer it’ll be back to normal.”

“My dad probably won’t even notice,” Scorpius said.

There was an awkward silence between the four of them at this. Scorpius was staring into the middle distance as though unaware that he’d spoken his thought aloud. Malcolm’s grin slipped away and he exchanged a look with Maxine, who cleared her throat and came over to them with a reserved smile. Her glossy black braids were wound and stacked on top of her head like an elegant beehive and she was wearing purple robes. Albus wondered if she ever wore Muggle clothes.

“Both of you have done an admirable job of keeping the hair length even.”

“Thank you ma’am,” they said together. Malcolm came to stand on the other side of the chair as Albus did his final touch ups. When he finally stepped back and turned off the clippers Scorpius looked up at him and Albus did his best to smile reassuringly as he handed over the mirror. Scorpius stared at himself and for a moment the raw, exposed look that always made Albus want to shield him hovered over the other boy’s face. What was left of Scorpius’ hair shimmered like milkweed floss as he turned his head and he seemed to collect himself, straightening up and nodding authoritatively.

“It’s good. Thank you, Albus.”

“You’re welcome.”

They smiled at each other and Malcolm broke the silence with another clap of his hands.

“Well I’ll be happy to sign off on this one; did you bring your guides?”

While Scorpius rummaged through his bag for the Muggle Studies Trials guide Albus tried to use a Disintegration charm he’d been working on to clear away the piles of hair from the floor. There was a rustle of purple in his periphery as Professor Maxine joined him.

“Are you sure you don’t want the hand vac?”

Albus furrowed his brow and pointed his wand again.

“I might; I just wanted to practice this first. _Decrusto!_ ”

A smattering of Scorpius’ pale hair twitched and was briefly swept upwards before disappearing with a crackle like dry leaves. 

“That spell’s more commonly used for dust, I believe.”

“That’s what Professor Friel said, but she also mentioned that it was good for spider webs, which I figured isn’t so different.”

Professor Maxine crouched down next to him and pulled out her own wand, which was made of deep red wood and carved with an elaborate geometric design. 

“ _Decrusto!_ ”

What was left of the hair went out at once with a wonderfully loud sizzle.

“Thank you, ma’am,” Albus said, grinning at her. Even though she smiled back her expression was thoughtful and Albus thought she wanted to say something else, but she got back to her feet and nodded approvingly at him.

“Congratulations on completing the task, Mr. Potter.”

 

Over the next few days no one, as far as Albus could tell, ever asked Scorpius about his hair directly. Instead they asked Albus and Candy, something he quickly realized he should have foreseen. While the three of them were together the other students left them alone, but whenever Scorpius was absent someone would approach, usually sent to Albus like an envoy from another group, each asking a variation of the same question. _Why did you cut your hair?_

“We just felt like it,” Albus would answer, even though it was obvious that no one believed him. The more truthful answer, that Scorpius was making a public disavowal of his father, seemed to be intuitively understood by those who actually knew him, but most people just seemed perplexed or vaguely disturbed. As they faced the constant stares and whispers, Albus quietly acknowledged that neither of the reasons he’d given Scorpius for his own participation was the whole truth. He just hadn’t wanted Scorpius to face the scrutiny alone.

For his part, Scorpius seemed oddly revitalized by what he’d done; even his smiles were defiant, as though he was daring the world to look sideways at him. For the first time in weeks he told Albus that he was going to practice piano in the secret wing and said yes when Albus asked if he could come along. As he sat on the pile of stolen cushions doing his homework and listening to Scorpius play, Albus wasn’t sure if his show of solidarity had helped to bring about this change in his friend, but he liked to think so.

 

“Are you two joining a gang?”

It was Saturday afternoon and James had somehow caught up with Albus during one of the rare moments that he was unaccompanied by Candy or Scorpius, following him out of the Great Hall after lunch. Albus turned around to face him, folding his arms across his chest.

“What are you talking about?”

His brother was wearing a jacket with his Gryffindor scarf and Albus supposed that he was on his way to the Quidditch pitch. As always James was a head taller and Albus couldn’t help noticing, with a twinge of resentment, that his hair was just long enough to cover the somewhat pointy ears they’d both inherited. James mirrored Albus’ pose, his eyebrows drawn together.

“Rowe and the other Scotch wolves in Falconry Club have their hair cut like that. You all look like fascists.”

Albus clenched his hands into fists and forced himself to take a deep breath.

“We’re not fascists, and we haven’t joined a gang. We cut our hair, that’s it. It’s not like it won’t grow back.”

They were standing in the entrance hall and Albus silently cursed the dispersing lunch crowd as he felt heads turning in their direction. James didn’t seem to notice, regarding him with the patronizing concern that never failed to make Albus want to throw things. 

“Fine,” James said finally, “I believe you. It just seems like you always do what he wants you to do.”

“That’s not true.”

James raised his eyebrows.

“Really? ‘Cuz I heard you’re not coming home for Christmas.”

Albus almost dropped his stance in frustration, trying to remember who he’d actually voiced this plan to. He did his best to coolly return his brother’s gaze.

“It was something that I was thinking about, yah.”

“So you can be here with him?”

James had lowered his voice a little as though they were talking about something embarrassing, which only made Albus want to speak more loudly.

“Yes.”

“Did he ask you to?”

“ _No_ ,” Albus shot back, dropping his arms and taking a step forward, “He would never ask me to do that, just like he would never ask me to cut my hair with him. He never asks for what he needs because he doesn’t think anyone’s willing to give it to him.”

To his intense satisfaction James flinched back from him slightly looking baffled, as though Albus had just proposed a canoe race to Iceland. After this brief moment of surprise however, his brother’s expression hardened again and when he spoke his voice was heavy with sarcasm.

“Well I hope you have fun with that.”

Albus glared at him, determined to not back down, until James finally turned away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't even know you guys. This one still feels pretty unwieldy and rough and I could absolutely spend another month revising it, but I'm so desperate to move on right now. Whatever, I like this chapter, or really any chapter where I can just let Albus and Scorpius be cute and have fun together. Albus surprised me a little with his insight about Scorpius at the very end. Is it kind of unbelievable that he would actually say that to James? Maybe, but I love it so much I couldn't not use it.


	10. The Dream of the Red Tree

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Scorpius has a dream and realizes something important.

He was standing at the crest of a green hill which sloped down gently before him to a wall of trees. Most were reaching up like red, orange and yellow flames, but the rest were already stripped to their grey bark. From this distance they blended into a kind of forest-shaped smoke, and Scorpius had the impression that he was seeing trees and the ghosts of trees. A breeze pushed at his back and leaves tumbled around his shoes like sparks in the grass. 

“There’s a path.”

He turned his head to see Albus standing next to him, the late afternoon sun making his skin golden. Their long black school robes billowed around them. There was a path; Scorpius could see it now, opening its palm to them between two trees. 

“We need to hurry,” Scorpius said, “the sickness has spread to the valley and doctors are scarce this far north.”

Warm fingers curled around his hand and Albus was watching him with a small smile, his thick black hair crashing like waves around his face.

“You’re looking out the wrong window;” he said patiently, “This path goes to Hogsmeade.”

Scorpius looked again. He could see it now, the clearing beyond the trees where the village lay with its roofs and roads, garden plots and smoking chimneys. There was going to be a festival in the square for Halloween. Albus squeezed his hand and started down the hill, gently pulling Scorpius along. The bright sunlight was extinguished as they passed under the branches of the forest.

“This isn’t the road to Hogsmeade,” he said, frowning.

“Of course not,” Albus replied easily, “it’s a path that goes to Hogsmeade, I told you that already.”

“Sorry,” Scorpius muttered, distracted by the rough, twisting grey bodies of the trees that emerged and retreated into darkness around them. He was glad Albus hadn’t let go of his hand. The patches of light that broke through the canopy were so small and scarce that it made Scorpius feel as though he were an insect with fragile wings enclosed in the hands of a giant. He felt himself breathe more easily as the path ahead widened and thin seams of light began to appear between the trees. 

Beyond the forest a wide meadow separated them from the village and their path was lost in feathery grass that almost reached their knees. Albus continued excitedly but Scorpius felt something inside of him pull back from the meadow, just for a second, before his feet carried him on at Albus' side. While they were in the forest heavy grey clouds had rolled across the sky, narrowing the sunset to a band of hot amber that left everything below it in semi-darkness, so that the tops of the trees were on fire but the meadow where they now walked was already fading into dusk. One tree stood in the very center of the meadow, its leaves such a deep red that they were almost black. Every step Scorpius took towards it felt heavier than the last, as though the dark soil beneath the grass was pulling at his feet. He stopped and Albus turned to look at him, frowning. 

“What’s wrong?”

Scorpius was struggling to speak. It felt as though his thoughts were travelling from a great distance, and he had to translate them before they would cling to his voice. 

“Do you smell that?”

Albus sniffed, his nose wrinkling and his bright eyes narrowed. A grin spread across his face and he pointed towards the village.

“It’s smoke from the bonefire.”

Scorpius shivered.

“The what?”

The wind had lost itself in the valley, shifting and swirling like caged thing. As it blew from the village it carried drums and horns and voices singing. Scorpius could just make out the words.

 

_Go down into your cellar and see what you can find_  
_If your barrel is not empty we’ll hope you will prove kind_  
_We’ll hope you will prove kind with your apples and strong beer_  
_We’ll come no more a-souling until this time next year._

 

“Did-did you mean ‘bonfire’?”

“That’s what I said,” Albus replied, amused.

 

_A soul, a soul, a soul cake_  
_Hey, good missus, a soul cake,_  
_An apple, a pear, a plum or a cherry,_  
_Any good thing to make us merry._  
_One for Peter, two for Paul,_  
_Three for Him that made us all._

 

Albus began walking again and with a sense of growing dread Scorpius followed, still clutching the other boy’s hand. The sun dipped below the mountainous horizon and Scorpius watched the band of rose-colored light fall down with it and grow cold in the bluing grass. They had almost reached the tree in the center of the meadow and Scorpius realized that the sun hadn’t set behind the mountains; it had been pulled into the tree, because the tree was brighter than ever, glowing like a red lantern in the smoky twilight. 

 

_The lanes are very dirty, my shoes are very thin,_  
_I’ve got a little pocket to put a penny in._  
_If you haven’t got a penny, a ha’penny will do,_  
_If you haven’t got a ha’penny, then God bless you._

 

Scorpius stopped dead, every inch of his body suddenly alive with fear. He tried to lift his foot and the ground held it fast. The light in the tree was flickering, growing smaller, like a dying ember, and he knew that when it went out they would be lost in darkness. With difficulty he turned away from the tree, to Albus, and cried out in horror. A large bird mask covered Albus’ face and head, black and gleaming like tar, the eyes dark round lenses and its long beak sharp as a scythe. Scorpius’ eyes darted down to see thick black feathers pushing out from his friend’s arms like poisonous tines.

 

_A soul, a soul, a soul cake_  
_Hey, good missus, a soul cake,_  
_An apple, a pear, a plum or a cherry,_  
_Any good thing to make us merry._  
_One for Peter, two for Paul,_  
_Three for Him that made us all._

 

Scorpius opened his mouth to say Albus’ name, but words he didn’t understand came out instead. His heart racing, he let go of Albus’ hand and pulled at the terrible mask, almost weeping with relief as it came off. The light from the tree was almost gone and the drums from the village sounded closer now, as though they were coming from beneath the meadow. The wind had risen and was cracking around them like a whip. Scorpius held Albus’ face in his hands, as though doing so would keep the darkness at bay. Albus held his wrists, his eyes widening in fear.

“What are we going to do?” he called over the thundering drums and the wind.

“We’re going to run!” Scorpius shouted back.

 

~

 

Scorpius was trembling, out of breath and confused, unable to understand where he was or what he was seeing. Gradually the world shifted back into focus; he was sitting up in his bed with the shifting light from the fireplace coming through the dark linen curtains. He could feel icy sweat along his brow.

“Scorpius?” the voice came from the darkness to his right, “Are you okay?”

_Albus._

“Go to sleep,” Marcus protested groggily from across the room. 

Rather than call back to Albus, Scorpius got up and tiptoed across the cold floor, carefully pulling back the edge of one of the curtains on his friend’s bed. Albus was a boy-shaped smudge in the dim light, sitting up and turning down the corner of his blankets, looking towards Scorpius. A memory that wasn’t his drifted into Scorpius’ mind as clearly as though he’d lived it himself; of a much younger Lily sneaking into Albus’ bedroom after she’d had a nightmare. He hesitated for a moment before climbing up into Albus’ bed. Albus lay back down facing him and Scorpius did the same, conscious of the space between their bodies. 

“Bad dream?” Albus whispered, and Scorpius nodded. He wondered if someday they would be able to talk without saying anything at all, if his Second Sight would allow him to see the thoughts in Albus’ mind and place his own alongside them like flowers in a vase.

“Do you wanna talk about it?”

Scorpius considered this for a moment, his chest tightening again with fear, and shook his head. Albus smiled at him.

“Feel free to kip here if you want; I’m gonna get back to sleep.”

“Okay, thanks,” Scorpius whispered as Albus closed his eyes and settled himself deeper under his covers, tucking his head down into his pillow. Scorpius was reminded of the wild rabbits at the Manor, the way they scuttled and curled in on themselves and each other when they were sleepy. Albus’ expression was serene and the weak firelight shone off of the black bristly hair struggling to reclaim dominion over his head. _In the dream_ , Scorpius thought, _we both had our hair again_. It did nothing to reassure him. In the deep silence of the dormitory he realized that Albus had fallen back asleep. As he listened to the other boy breathe it occurred to Scorpius for the first time that Albus trusted him, and in spite of the fear hanging over him Scorpius felt humbled. More than that, he suddenly felt responsible.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As I was working on the previous chapter and trying to plan out what the next one would be, I realized that not only had the time come (plot-wise) for this dream, but that Scorpius' dream in Part One was ALSO Chapter 10! *Cue massive geek-out* I wrote this one over a year ago so I'm thrilled to finally be posting it :D I wrote the dreams that Scorpius is going to have over the course of this series around the same time, almost as their own mini story, and this is the one where I decided that it would be really really cool to bring in the idea of past lives/selves into a couple of them (lol because why not?)


	11. The Souling Song

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Albus, Scorpius and Candy have an eventful Halloween.

The weeks leading up to Halloween were marked by heightened anticipation around the castle. It had been announced that as a special treat first- and second-year students would be permitted to go into Hogsmeade for the village Halloween festival and trick-or-treating. A handful of professors had volunteered to accompany interested students, but within a day it became obvious that the response to this offer was more enthusiastic than anyone had anticipated and several sixth- and seventh-year prefects were enlisted to help chaperone.

It seemed to be all anyone could talk about, and costume-making soon became a castle-wide obsession. So many raids were made on professors’ supply closets that classrooms had to be magically locked and reinforced when not in use. A Hufflepuff girl was caught smuggling bottles of paint out of Robins’ art class, and a handful of fourth-years were discovered trying to break into the Muggle Studies classroom in the middle of the night. In response to the restrictions a trend sprang up, mostly among boys, of taking plain T-shirts and simply writing the name of the costume across the front. Other students could be seen canvassing the grounds for aesthetically pleasing branches and leaves which they then tried to turn into “elf”, “nymph”, “dryad” or, rather desperately, “tree” costumes. Professor Longbottom sealed off the greenhouses at once and flatly refused to conduct classes there until November.

Albus was thoroughly won over by the contagious excitement but as the event drew near he began to realize that Scorpius was uneasy. Every time the subject of Halloween came up between them he smiled and was clearly trying to match Albus’s enthusiasm, but when he thought no one was looking Scorpius seemed distracted and the space between his eyebrows was creased from frowning. He hadn’t wanted to make a costume and Albus had agreed, pointing out that they were getting a little old for Halloween, even though privately he’d been entertaining the idea of a raven costume. He’d been reading Edgar Allen Poe and rather fancied the idea of screeching “Nevermore!” at people. 

Candy had said that she was going to take advantage of the quiet while everyone was in Hogsmeade to continue on with her grueling study schedule. As much as he wanted her to come Albus couldn’t help but admire her focus; the idea of completing all their regular coursework plus extra for the Trials while still learning the two languages that the work was written in made his head swim. However, after days of listening to Albus’ thinly veiled persuasion, she caved the night before and agreed to go with them. They were sitting together in the common room and when Albus turned to Scorpius, grinning, he was caught off-guard by the look of fear that flashed across his friend’s face before the other boy could stifle it.

On Saturday after lunch students hurried back to the dormitories to change into their costumes and Filch could be heard growling under his breath as he used a push broom to clear away all of the crumbling leaves that hadn’t quite stuck to dozens of makeshift wood nymphs. The older students left for Hogsmeade on their own while the second-and first-years were herded into the entrance hall, divided into groups and assigned a chaperone. The teachers who had volunteered and the prefects who’d been coerced were clearly feeling the pressure of the situation; a seventh-year Ravenclaw boy was looking over the crowd as though contemplating the no-man’s land beyond an embattled trench. Finally they were ushered outside; the stretching lawns and hills around the castle were carpeted with fallen leaves and even though he felt supremely happy Albus couldn’t ignore an occasional rush of anxiety, picked up from Scorpius as though by osmosis. Candy at least shared his excitement and for all her previous resolve seemed relieved to be away from the castle and her homework. Her long chestnut hair was swaying in loose waves as she walked and she was wearing the green scarf Albus had given her for Christmas the year before. The color complimented her eyes and Albus was privately grateful that Cai Blevins was far ahead of them with the other sixth years and that he was not a prefect.

By the time they got to Hogsmeade the village was already swarming with students, but the townspeople didn’t seem to mind. Hogsmeade was small and Albus’ immediate impression was that inviting the Hogwarts students to the festival had been one of the main reasons for having it. Twinkling lights were woven through the branches of the trees and outlined the houses. Every stoop and wide windowsill seemed to have a jack-o-lantern perched on it, flames flickering behind their gap-toothed smiles and triangular eyes. The townspeople wore beautiful, elaborate costumes that inspired open exclamations of reverence and jealousy from the students. Pub staff from The Three Broomsticks were circulating with cups of steaming butterbeer, cider, and hot chocolate, along with trays of meat pies and biscuits. A massive pile of wooden crates, pallets, tree branches and kindling had been erected in the village square for the bonfire. Its rough dark bulk was oddly monolithic and somewhat out of place amidst the cheer and hospitality of the crowd, but everyone regarded it with excitement, eager for the sun to set so it could be ignited. Next to it a band was playing English and Scottish folk music.

“If you can call it that,” said Scorpius when Candy pointed it out, “It sounds like they picked up whatever odd instruments they had lying around at home.”

Candy rolled her eyes, smiling.

“You’re such a snob,” Albus said, nudging the other boy with his elbow, “If none of them knows what they’re doing how is it I can tell what they’re playing?”

Scorpius looked at him, the corners of his mouth trying so hard not to twist into a smile that Albus could already hear his reply before he spoke.

“Some people are uniquely gifted with the ability to hear that which does not exist.”

Candy laughed and Albus shoved him, relieved that his friend seemed to have been shaken out of his dark mood. Still smiling, Scorpius pointed to a plump older witch with wild white hair and large thick-lensed glasses who was playing a gleaming silver trumpet one-handed.

“She’s the leader,” he said, “And in all fairness she seems to be a professional. She’s carrying the main melody, and you see how she’s using her free hand? Keeping the tempo and pointing to people?”

“There’s a word for that,” Candy said, her brow slightly furrowed in what they had come to think of as her translation face.

“Conductor,” Albus replied, with a half-glance to Scorpius even though he knew he was right.

The other boy wasn’t listening, however. Something across the square had caught his attention and when Albus followed his gaze he saw a tall robed wizard whose face was hidden behind a midnight blue mask covered in silver stars. Scorpius was frowning and Albus nudged him again.

“Hey, what’s that instrument?”

Scorpius blinked and looked to where Albus was pointing at a remarkable object that looked like a taxidermy polecat, its middle replaced by an accordion. The animal’s front legs were hoisted over the shoulder of the meek-looking wizard playing it and a single long pipe protruded from its mouth, emitting very strange honks. 

“I have no idea,” Scorpius said, looking at the instrument with a kind of vaguely horrified awe.

“I know that one,” Candy said as the three of them took cups of hot butterbeer from a passing tray, “It’s a traditional Mexican instrument called a _tubería salvaje_.”

Both of them stared at her for a moment, absorbing this, before a smile broke across her face and she started giggling.

“I’m kidding,” she grinned, taking a sip of her butterbeer.

“You know we would’ve believed you if you’d kept that one going,” Scorpius replied, although Albus noted that his eyes were already scanning the crowd for the man in the mask again, but there was no sign of him.

Claudette suddenly appeared next to them, wearing one of the more successful woodland costumes, her honey-colored hair done up in a crown of braids with dark red leaves woven into it and wings made from slender twigs and red cellophane. She greeted Candy happily, glancing at the two boys with self-conscious hope as she did so. Scorpius, still preoccupied, didn’t seem to notice that she was there, but Albus smiled at her. She and Candy soon left to find Nerys and Scorpius acknowledged Candy’s departure with a nod before drifting back into his reverie.

“Hey,” Albus said in a quiet voice, stepping closer to him, “What’s up?”

“How old do you think Hogsmeade is?” Scorpius asked after a moment, contemplating the rough stone walls and wooden beams of the houses and buildings.

“I don’t know, probably pretty old, why?”

“Do you…do you think it was here during the Black Death?”

Albus frowned, thinking about it.

“Maybe, I mean Hogwarts was already here then, so it would make sense for the village to be too.”

“Plague doctors,” Scorpius said slowly, “used to wear full-body uniforms with beaked masks to cover their faces. It was thought that…that the plague could be spread by smell, so the beak of the mask was filled with dried flowers and stuff, like a gas mask.”

Albus stared at him. The shadows under his eyes told him that Scorpius hadn’t slept well.

“Are you studying the Black Death or is this just part of your basic working knowledge?”

“What?” Scorpius asked, looking at him, and Albus regretted the weak joke even as he tried to explain it.

“You know, ‘My name is Scorpius, the sky is blue, fire is hot, plague doctors wore potpourri gas masks.’”

After a beat Scorpius’ expression lightened and he smiled, looking self-conscious.

“It’s nothing, part of that dream I had awhile back, so I was reading up on it.”

Unsure of what to say to this, Albus smiled back and glanced around the crowd, spotting Candy in the midst of a small group of first- and second-years. Nerys was wearing blue wings and Albus wondered if she and Claudette had designed their costumes to be a pair. One of the other girls was wearing a lion mane made of orange and yellow construction paper, undoubtedly nicked, and another seemed to be some kind of reptile, dressed in green and covered with paper scales. All of them were talking animatedly and Candy seemed to be enjoying herself, her cheeks pink with laughter and cold.

Albus’ happiness faltered as he noticed a group of sixth-year boys standing nearby. Cai Blevins was wearing a white t-shirt that said ‘THOR GOD OF THUNDER’ in large black handwritten letters. His friends were similarly dressed and labeled ‘IRON MAN’, ‘THE HULK’, and ‘LOKI’. All of them were pointing out girls to each other and sniggering except Cai, who was watching Candy with a little smile that made Albus queasy. He nudged Scorpius and indicated the older boy with a lift of his chin.

“Git,” Scorpius muttered, rolling his eyes, “Do you want him or should I?”

“I’ll do it,” Albus said, carefully pulling out his wand and holding it so that it was concealed in the wide sleeve of his robes. Scorpius turned and stood in front of him, pretending to look at something behind Albus, who held his wand low and aimed it at Cai’s crotch.

“ _Scabiosus vestibus_ ,” he whispered once he had a clear shot.

“Look at that!” Scorpius said, pointing, and Albus turned away from Cai at once, quickly stashing his wand.

“What are we looking at?” he asked, grinning.

“Tragically, not the expression on Blevins’ face right now,” Scorpius said, making Albus laugh.

“Happy Halloween,” came a sonorous voice from behind them. They both jumped, spinning around on the spot, and Albus felt Scorpius’ hand close tightly around his wrist. It was the wizard with the starry mask, his impressive height and breadth blocking their view of Cai and Candy completely. He was much taller than he had seemed when he was on the opposite side of the square and Albus couldn’t quell a slight flicker of anxiety as he tried to look innocent.

“Happy Halloween,” he replied.

Scorpius said nothing. The hand that wasn’t gripping Albus’s wrist was down at his side and Albus guessed that he had taken out his wand. The wizard reached up and pushed his mask up onto his forehead. His short hair was white, as was the wealth of thick stubble on his cheeks and along his jaw. Deep creases were set around his mouth and eyes and across his forehead. Albus had the impression that he was much older than his strong frame and ruddy complexion suggested. He bent down slightly, his eyes a fierce sharp blue under wild eyebrows as he peered at them.

“Who’re you then?”

His accent was strong, Northern, and he spoke as though he didn’t speak very often.

“I’m Albus Potter,” Albus replied, prepared to deny everything if the wizard confronted him about Cai. The old man said nothing but a small smile crept over his face, his bright eyes crinkling.

“Who’re you?” Albus asked, lifting his chin.

“Aberforth Dumbledore,” the wizard replied, holding out a callused hand.

Albus felt his mouth drop open as he took the proffered hand. Scorpius finally let go of his wrist, his eyes wide.

“Next time you wanna cast that spell,” Aberforth continued smoothly, as though his name had not caused a reaction, “I would recommend _Scabiosus phallus_ , gets ‘um where it hurts.” 

Albus smiled incredulously.

“You’re-you’re really Aberforth Dumbledore?”

“No one would lie about being me,” he replied, squatting so that they were eye to eye, again giving the impression of a much younger man, “I fought the last battle with your dad, saw Voldemort fall dead at his feet.”

Albus beamed, feeling, as he had countless times before, the reflected pride and heroism of his father. With a guilty start he turned to Scorpius, who had been watching the exchange with an unreadable expression.

“This is my friend, Scorpius Malfoy.”

Aberforth’s smile faded a little but there was nothing unkind in his face as he looked at Scorpius. Rather he seemed deeply thoughtful, his eyes piercing. He held out his hand and Scorpius hesitated before shaking it.

“Glad to meet you.”

“It’s an honor to meet you, sir,” Scorpius said.

“No it isn’t,” Aberforth replied at once, straightening up to his full height again and looking down at them. “This’ll happen again.” Without another word he pulled the mask back over his face and walked away, leaving behind a small wake in the crowd. 

Not long after he’d left Candy rejoined them to say that her study group friends had invited her to go trick-or-treating. The fact that Albus and Scorpius had not been invited was understood but unspoken, and she smiled apologetically as they parted ways. After she’d gone Albus scanned the crowd for Cai, but he and his friends were nowhere to be seen. Early evening found Albus and Scorpius wandering the streets of Hogsmeade with no particular goal. Albus had spotted and said hello to each of his siblings and cousins (except James), all of whom were busy with their own friends. They’d gone trick-or-treating with Hugo and some of the other Hufflepuff first-years, collecting candy in the pockets of their robes from cheerful townspeople who didn’t seem to care in the least that they didn’t have costumes. The village was so small that after less than an hour they’d exhausted its doors, and the first-years began to concoct a plan to sneak out to the Shrieking Shack, thrilled and frightened by their own audacity. Albus had thought the idea showed great promise, but he felt Scorpius’s anxiety return at once as he listened to the excited chatter of the younger children.

“Why don’t you wanna go?” Albus asked once they’d bid Hugo and the others farewell. A tiny wizard dressed as a dragon was walking up and down the cobblestones, lighting the street lamps with his wand even though the sun had barely begun to set. Drifts of fallen leaves lined the roads and Albus had decided to walk through as many of them as he could. Scorpius was walking closer to the middle of the road and didn’t answer, his large watchful eyes darting every now and then to windows, darkening side streets, and to the faces of people who passed them.

“It sounds like it might be fun,” Albus prompted, kicking a great golden pile of leaves with relish.

Out of the corner of his eye he could see Scorpius chewing on his words a little before he spoke.

“I’m sorry, I just…I feel like we shouldn’t go off on our own tonight.”

“Why? This isn’t because of your dream, is it?”

Scorpius glanced over at him quickly and Albus was divided between sympathy and frustration.

“It must have been really bad,” he said as they continued walking, “and I get it, Halloween and all, but it was just a dream. If you let yourself get spooked by stuff like that you’ll never have any fun.”

“Maybe you’re right,” said Scorpius after a moment, “but...I’d rather stay in town until it’s time to go back to the castle with our group.”

Albus put his hands in his pockets, looking down at his shoes.

“You wouldn’t have to come. I could go catch up with them and you could stay in town if you want.”

The look of open fear that crossed Scorpius’ face made Albus come to a stop, turning to face him.

“Look, I’m sorry you’re scared,” he went on, “but I’m not, and I’ve been looking forward to this for weeks. I want to have fun.”

“Sorry to disappoint you,” Scorpius said in a tight voice, folding his arms across his chest. Albus groaned and rolled his eyes.

“Well you’re not really helping me out here, you know? You’re not telling me what’s really going on, most of the school either hates us or is afraid of us, and half the time you act like you can’t be bothered with the people who are actually nice.”

“That’s not true.”

Even though Scorpius hadn’t raised his voice his indignation was obvious and Albus felt strangely relieved, taking a step closer to him.

“It’s not? I never know if you’re going to be in the mood to tolerate _me_.”

Scorpius blinked, stung, and Albus watched with a growing sense of guilt as his friend’s face shifted from anger to dismay. They stared at each other in tense silence for a moment before Scorpius looked away.

“I’m sorry,” he said, “I don’t want to make you feel like that.”

“It’s not all the time,” Albus muttered, torn between standing his ground and apologizing.

Scorpius sniffed and closed his eyes.

“You don’t have to be my friend anymore if you don’t want to, just… _please_ wait until after we get back to Hogwarts.”

“I never said I didn’t want to be your friend, it’s just…frustrating sometimes, that’s all,” Albus said, then, suddenly worried, “Do you still want to be _my_ friend?”

Scorpius looked up at him; his nose had turned pink the way it did when he cried. Without his hair his eyes looked even bigger and darker somehow, like an illustration of a begging street urchin. 

“Yes,” he said.

Eager to put the fight behind them Albus began to open his arms to hug the other boy, but before he could Scorpius hugged him instead.

“I’m sorry,” he repeated. 

“It’s okay,” Albus said, “I’m sorry too. We can stay in the village.”

 

The entire populations of both the village and Hogwarts seemed to be gravitating towards the pyre in the center of town, anxious for the fire. Albus and Scorpius joined up at the outer fringe of the crowd, standing on their tiptoes to see if anything was happening yet. As the sun set it felt as though all of the color was draining upwards into the sky, blazing blue and gold and fuchsia. The band, which had been playing off and on all evening, fell silent and a rustling hush fell over the crowd as everyone craned their necks and lifted small children onto their shoulders. A very handsomely dressed wizard in a top hat who looked as though he might be the mayor of Hogsmeade stepped up to the pyre and, with a great ceremonial flourish, waved his wand. There was a rush of air and a collective gasp from the onlookers as flame ignited in the dry wood. Before their applause could gain momentum however, the large bespectacled witch who had been leading the band raised her trumpet and began to play, causing everyone to fall silent again.

Even though he’d been hearing her play throughout the festival Albus was struck by the sound that came out of the instrument as it sparkled in the firelight. It was clear and sweet like silvered birdsong and the beauty of it made his hair stand on end. The song she played was familiar even though Albus couldn’t remember what it was. Scorpius had gone still beside him, drinking in the sound with a look of reverent joy on his face. Albus grinned. The same rapt stillness seemed to have fallen over everyone and Albus felt his sense of time slip away as they listened. Tides of fragrant wood smoke were shifting in the air and Albus felt his brain becoming pleasantly muzzy. They were still standing on the edge of the crowd and as he turned to look behind them Albus’ eyes caught on something.

Between two nearby houses and down a narrow side street he could see an open space, a gently rising slope of grass that was catching the very last of the light. Feeling as though he was moving very slowly, Albus started walking towards it. It was a small meadow, he realized as he reached the end of the street, and at the center of it was a tree with glossy dark red leaves. He thought he could see a flickering light at its base, but the tall grass and the rise of the land prevented him from seeing where the light was coming from. He stepped into the grass and began walking towards the tree. Behind him he heard the last note of the trumpet’s song die away on the air and it was replaced by a chorus of voices, all singing together.

 

_A soul, a soul, a soul cake_  
_Hey, good missus, a soul cake,_  
_An apple, a pear, a plum or a cherry,_  
_Any good thing to make us merry._  
_One for Peter, two for Paul,_  
_Three for Him that made us all._

_Go down into your cellar and see what you can find_  
_If your barrel is not empty we’ll hope you will prove kind_  
_We’ll hope you will prove kind with your apples and strong beer_  
_We’ll come no more a-souling until this time next year._

 

“ _ALBUS!_ ”

Halfway to the tree he turned to see Scorpius sprinting down the street and into the meadow, struggling through the tall grass, his wand out and a look of utter terror on his face.

“DON’T MOVE!”

As Scorpius caught up to him Albus took an involuntary step backwards, frightened by the look on his friend’s face, and several things happened at once. Air and sound and equilibrium suddenly rushed away, as though he’d been dropped into deep water. Scorpius’ free hand closed on his upper arm and Albus could feel him shaking as he looked around frantically. Nothing seemed real and when Albus tried to breathe the air felt thick, as though he was trying to pull honey into his lungs. Scorpius let go of his arm and touched his face, as though checking him for a temperature.

“Albus? Albus, can you hear me?!”

He was the only thing Albus _could_ hear clearly.

“I can hear you,” he said with difficulty.

“We need to go now, come on!”

Scorpius grabbed his hand, turning away, and Albus cried out in pain and fear as the top half of his body tried to follow while his feet remained locked, as though they’d been turned to stone. Scorpius stopped at once, looking down at Albus’ feet.

“HELP!” He shouted towards the village, “SOMEBODY HELP US! PLEASE HELP!”

Nothing happened and no one came. Albus’s heart was pounding, his stomach churning in panic.

“I can’t-Scorpius, my feet, I can’t move-!”

Scorpius was still holding his hand; Albus thought he saw tears on the other boy’s face. The sun had set, night was falling and Albus wondered what had happened to the thin white candle that had been burning under the tree, but he couldn’t breathe.


	12. Blood Spell

Aberforth was the first one to come running after the spell broke, shouting over his shoulder at those who were following. 

_“STAY BACK!”_

They obeyed at once, stopping at the edge of the meadow, silhouetted black against the orange blaze of the bonfire. Several of them were lighting their wands, the small circles of white light illuminating their wide-eyed faces and Halloween costumes as they craned their necks to see what was going on. From where he sat Scorpius was struggling to focus on Aberforth, who seemed to be moving too fast and too slowly at the same time as he came towards them. The old wizard’s eyes went to Albus at once, who lay sprawled unconscious across Scorpius’ lap, and he walked around them in a brisk circle, scanning the meadow with his wand out. He seemed to be listening intently, then pointed his wand to where Hogwarts stood beyond the forest.

_“Expecto Patronum!”_

Scorpius closed his eyes reflexively against the brightness of the Patronus, opening them again once it had vanished into the night.

“Did you see anyone?” Aberforth asked.

“No,” Scorpius said. His voice sounded strange and far away. Aberforth crouched and took Scorpius’ face in his hands, staring into his eyes for a moment before reaching down to check Albus’ neck for a pulse. He then lifted the other boy out of Scorpius’ arms and put him over his shoulder like a sack of flour.

“Can you stand?”

Scorpius nodded and got to his feet, feeling his brain slosh a little in his skull as he did so. As soon as he was upright Aberforth grabbed hold of his arm and turned on the spot, pulling Scorpius along with him. Scorpius realized that they were about to Disapparate as it happened and a rush of nauseous pain gripped him as his body was twisted and stretched through the void, anchored only by Aberforth’s vicelike grip. Gravity was coming back and his heart lurched in momentary freefall before his feet hit the ground. Scorpius staggered forward, gagging on the bile that had risen in his throat, and felt Aberforth let go of him.

“Can you walk?”

Wanting to collapse, Scorpius looked up at him. They had Apparated just outside the front doors of the castle. Albus was still hanging over Aberforth’s shoulder, limp as a ragdoll, and Scorpius nodded again. Aberforth’s expression was grave as he turned away from him.

“Better clean yourself up as we go.”

 

The Hospital Wing had never felt so far away as Scorpius followed Aberforth up through the castle. The whole world seemed to have narrowed to the spot where Albus’ pale hands swayed and bounced against Aberforth’s back and Scorpius felt like a dead thing hooked at sea and dragged to shore. Madame Pomfrey opened the door of the Hospital Wing as they approached, fluttering around Aberforth as he crossed the room and carefully laid Albus down on the bed she had prepared for him. 

“How long has he been like this?” she asked, half-glancing over her shoulder at Scorpius.

“I don’t-maybe…two minutes before, before Mr. Dumbledore got to us?”

She was sitting on the edge of the bed, holding Albus’ wrist in one hand and murmuring spells as she waved her wand over him with the other. After each one she paused, listening and watching, and Scorpius sensed her disappointment and anxiety as Albus remained motionless. Finally she let go of his wrist and stood up, putting her wand in her apron pocket and rolling up her sleeves, strands of coarse white hair slipping from the tight bun at the nape of her neck. 

“Did he fall or hit his head that you saw?”

Her voice was as measured and calm as ever and Scorpius was grateful for her composure.

“No ma’am; I was holding onto him when he collapsed, so-so he didn’t really hit the ground.”

Without giving any indication that she’d heard him, Madame Pomfrey took out her wand again and waved it at a cabinet set against the back wall, which opened and dispensed a length of white curtain.

“If the two of you would please step back from the bed, I need to examine him.”

“I need to find the Headmistress anyway, Poppy,” Aberforth said, turning and walking out of the room.

Pomfrey nodded in his direction as the white curtain sailed through the air and unfurled around the bed, shielding it from view. Unsure of what to do with himself Scorpius wandered over to a chair near the door and sank onto it, feeling as though his body could liquefy at any moment. His head and limbs ached and he closed his eyes against the torchlight which illuminated the room, trying not to think about the way Albus’ eyes had rolled back in his head as he lost consciousness. Somewhere very far away he thought he heard a door open and close.

“Scorpius?”

The voice was so gentle that he didn’t recognize it until he opened his eyes and saw the Headmistress standing over him, looking alarmed.

“Hi,” he said.

This seemed to unsettle her even more and she bent to place a hand on his shoulder, peering into his face.

“Has Madame Pomfrey looked at you yet?”

Scorpius shook his head and tried to sit up straighter, unsure if his body was actually moving or if he was just imagining it.

“I’m okay; she’s with Albus.”

McGonagall’s mouth tightened a little and the softness left her expression as she stood up and told him to wait there. _Where else would I go?_ He thought as the sound of her clicking heels faded away. He could hear the two women’s hushed voices but couldn’t make out what they were saying. A minute later McGonagall returned accompanied by Madame Pomfrey, who bent down in front of him with a beaker of potion so foul-smelling it made him turn his head away.

“I beg your pardon, Mr. Malfoy,” she said quietly, “for not tending to you sooner.”

“Is Albus okay?” Scorpius asked, and the two women exchanged a look before Madame Pomfrey gave him a reassuring half-smile.

“His color is better and he’s got a good strong pulse,” she lifted up the beaker and he grimaced as the smell of it hit him anew, “I need you to drink this for me, Scorpius.”

“It smells bad.”

The crease between her eyebrows deepened slightly but her voice remained gentle.

“That’s how the potion works. The more you need it the worse it smells.”

He looked up at her, dimly wondering if she was making a joke, and felt a momentary urge to laugh. She brought the beaker to his lips and even though the smell of it was making him sick to his stomach he opened his mouth and drank. To his astonishment it was delicious, like sweet raspberries and cream, and he drained it in one gulp. His head began to clear at once and it felt as though he was waking from a deep, restful sleep. The castle around him came back into focus and he sat up straighter, fully attached to his limbs once more, and his stomach growled with hunger. Madame Pomfrey felt his forehead.

“Better?”

“Yes, thank you.”

“Here,” McGonagall said, holding out her hand and helping him to his feet, “Mr. Malfoy if you’re feeling up to it I need to speak with you in my office.”

He nodded and then hesitated, glancing towards the curtained bed where Albus still hadn’t stirred. 

“He’s in good hands,” Madame Pomfrey said, “If the Headmistress says it’s alright you can come back and check on him after.”

Scorpius nodded, thanking her again, and followed McGonagall out of the Hospital Wing. They walked together in silence through the empty corridors and Scorpius found himself thinking of Candy, wondering if she was still in Hogsmeade with the others. Did any of them even know what had happened?

The entrance to the Headmistress’ tower was concealed by a large stone gargoyle which came to life and uncoiled with a noise like gravel under carriage wheels, revealing a stone spiral staircase. As Scorpius began to climb it, following McGonagall, he was unprepared for it to begin turning on its own and clung to the wall for a moment, almost losing his balance as they were carried upwards.

When they entered the office Scorpius almost jumped out of his skin. Harry Potter was standing in front of McGonagall’s desk, deep in hushed conversation with Aberforth. He was wearing Muggle clothing; a baggy hooded sweatshirt, jeans and grubby trainers. There was stubble on his cheeks and even though his hair was cut short it still managed to be messy, like a strange miniature battlefield of cowlicks. Their voices cut off abruptly as both men turned towards the door.

“Albus?” Harry asked, looking to McGonagall.

“His condition is stable, but Madame Pomfrey hasn’t been able to wake him.”

Aberforth put a steadying hand on Harry’s shoulder as the other man’s face fell and the three of them stood in silence for a moment before Potter sniffed and seemed to come back to himself. Stepping away from Aberforth and McGonagall he approached Scorpius, bending down slightly in front of him.

“Are you alright?”

The earnestness of his expression and the concern in his voice were so like Albus that for a moment Scorpius couldn’t breathe.

“Yes, sir.”

Harry gave him a heart-heavy smile which started in one corner of his mouth, again just like his son. McGonagall was standing behind her desk and cleared her throat as she readied an open ledger of wide, blank paper and what looked like some kind of Dictation Quill. 

“Please have a seat Mr. Potter, Mr. Malfoy, and we shall begin.”

She waved her wand and two wooden chairs materialized next to them, facing the desk. Aberforth remained standing off to the side near Harry, watching the proceedings with his arms folded across his chest. Once the three of them were seated McGonagall laced her long waxy-skinned fingers together in front of her and turned to Scorpius.

“What happened, Mr. Malfoy?”

The Dictation Quill began to move on its own at once, quietly scratching her question onto the paper as Scorpius struggled to decide where to begin. He described the lighting of the bonfire, his absorption in the music, and the jolt he had experienced when he realized that Albus was no longer at his side. After scanning the crowd around him in panic Scorpius had turned to see Albus out beyond the village, walking into the meadow towards the tree. He explained how Albus seemed to have stepped across an invisible boundary into the spell. Words became harder but Scorpius did his best to convey the feeling of the magic, aware of their eyes watching him and the indefatigable quill scratching away. When he lapsed into silence Harry sat forward in his chair a little, half-turned towards him.

“So you’re saying that you couldn’t see the spell, but you could feel it,” he reiterated, “Albus couldn’t move but you could. What happened next?”

Scorpius looked down at his hands.

“I was shouting, hoping that someone in the village would hear, but I think the spell must have been doing something to the sound because no one came. Albus’ legs were stuck, and then he passed out. I caught him, and I was trying to cast spells on his legs and feet to get him unstuck, but nothing was working so…” he bit the inside of his bottom lip and took a breath, “so I did a blood spell.”

With his peripheral vision Scorpius could see Headmistress McGonagall’s eyebrows rise up her forehead like twin elevators. Aberforth was staring at the floor and even though no one had moved or spoken Scorpius could feel that the energy in the room had changed.

“What kind of blood spell?” Harry asked.

His hands trembling slightly, Scorpius unbuttoned the front of his black robes and McGonagall and Harry started, their eyes widening in alarm. Blood had soaked into Scorpius' white button-up shirt like a large red poppy on his chest. He undid the top buttons of the shirt and carefully pulled the fabric back from the two-inch cut he’d made just above his heart. 

“It’s a cutting spell,” he said quietly to the floor, afraid to look at them, “for cooking and things like that, but…but if you use it with an incantation it can break powerful spells, sometimes.”

“What kind of incantation?” Harry asked after a pause, his voice casual as though Scorpius was giving a lesson.

Scorpius swallowed. 

_“Mitto te ad tenebras. Sanguis enim sanguinem. Mors pro morte.”_

Reciting the spell out loud made him feel as though he’d let something into the room with them, a mutable shade watching from a hidden place. He went on.

“I got the blood on my hand and touched the ground by Albus’ feet. There was-I could feel that it worked. Albus wasn’t stuck anymore and I tried to drag him back towards the village but I couldn’t lift him. I shouted for help again and Mr. Dumbledore found us.”

There was silence after he had finished. McGonagall’s face was partially concealed as she held her clasped hands in front of her mouth. Harry looked deeply unsettled.

“Scorpius,” he said, “where did you learn that spell?”

With difficulty Scorpius met his gaze.

“My mother taught it to me when I was little. She said it was a secret, for emergencies.”

More silence followed this, and Scorpius caught Aberforth and McGonagall exchanging a look. 

“Do you know the spell’s translation?” Harry asked.

Scorpius nodded, noticing that the cleaning spell he’d done on his hand as he followed Aberforth to the Hospital Wing hadn’t quite worked. Traces of blood were drying in the lines of his palm.

_“I will send you into the darkness. Blood for blood. Death for death.”_

Aberforth was watching him now, his eyes so blue that Scorpius could see their color from where he sat. Portraits of previous headmasters were arrayed across the circular walls of the office, and while some of their subjects were asleep, others were awake and listening intently. Like Robins, McGonagall had numerous shelves and cabinets in her office, heavily laden with books and magical instruments. A number of black Victorian lanterns were hung throughout the room, filling it with flickering candlelight. In the chair next to Scorpius, Harry Potter’s hand had tightened into a fist where it rested on his thigh.

“What did your mother tell you…about the spell?” He asked. 

Scorpius remembered it vividly. He and Astoria had been sitting together on a blanket under one of the cherry trees in the orchard; Scorpius thought he had been eight or nine. It was spring, the falling blossoms kept catching in her hair, and she had charmed a small orange fox to them. He had always called it charming rather than spell work when she did this because she wouldn’t use her wand, would seldom even use words. It occurred to him that they had always been alone when she did magic that way; he wondered if his father even knew. That day in the garden she’d simply held out her hand, waiting, and Scorpius was unsurprised when the animal emerged from a nearby hedge and approached them, its shiny black nose twitching with interest.

“She told me that it was old magic,” he said quietly, “and that sometimes…people don’t understand old magic.”

 _They’ve forgotten_ , she had explained as the fox curled contentedly in her lap. Scorpius had scooted closer and they’d petted it together for a while in silence. He hadn’t been afraid when she’d taken out her wand, or when she’d explained what she was going to do. With complete trust and fascination he’d watched as the fox began to writhe and whine beneath her hands. _The fox is in pain_ , she said, _but I’m going to make it better_. Astoria cut the heel of her hand with her wand and touched the cut to the fox’s throat, saying the incantation slowly and clearly so he could hear. Immediately the fox had relaxed, stretching as it began to purr and lick the blood from her hand like a devoted pet. It had scampered away from them afterwards with Astoria’s blood still matted in its soft white fur.

McGonagall sat back from her desk suddenly and took out her wand, conjuring a large plaster and what looked like an antiseptic wipe.

“Magic won’t be able to close that cut,” she said in a tight, brisk voice, “It will have to heal on its own.”

Harry was silent as she brought the supplies to Scorpius, who received them with mumbled thanks and, remembering a First Aid lesson in Muggle Studies, tore open the small paper envelope to remove the wipe. As he cleaned away the blood from the cut and applied the plaster McGonagall leaned against her desk and turned to the two men.

“Professor Dalca will need to be informed.”

“I can send a message to her,” Aberforth said, “She and Potter’s man are still lookin’ over the scene.”

“Are the other students still being contained in the village?” Harry asked.

“They should be,” McGonagall said, “I told Professor Longbottom to wait for my instruction. Aberforth, would you-?”

“On it.”

Without further ado the aged wizard turned and strode out of the office, the heavy wooden door closing with a thud behind him. McGonagall’s Dictation Quill had finally gone silent, laying itself delicately on her desk. Scorpius had buttoned up his shirt and Harry pulled his wand out of his sweatshirt pocket, pointing it at the blood stain.

_“Scourgify.”_

There was a brief sensation of heat as the spell cleared away the stain and Scorpius smiled uncertainly at him.

“Thank you, sir.”

Even though he still looked troubled, Harry returned the smile.

“You might have saved my son’s life tonight, Scorpius. You don’t have to keep calling me ‘sir’.”

Before Scorpius could respond, the panes of the nearest window rattled, making the three of them jump and turn towards it. A bright amorphous nebula of light was hovering outside the window and Harry rose from his chair, wand at the ready.

“Is that Dalca’s?” He asked.

“No,” McGonagall said, “Hers is much larger; a wolf.”

The latch on the window released in response to a flick from Harry’s wand and the Patronus rushed into the room, directly towards Scorpius, who stood up and took a step back in surprise as it began to circle him in the air like a graceful fish. 

“Scorpius?” 

Harry and the Headmistress were still standing at attention, their eyes following the Patronus anxiously as its shape became more defined. As it continued to circle him Scorpius could feel the protective magic it carried spread like warm water through his body.

“It’s okay,” he said quietly, “It’s from my dad.”

The Patronus brightened at the sound of his voice and even though he knew it didn’t have mass, Scorpius held out his hand to it, and the Patronus moved to hover over his palm. It was a scorpion, legs scuttling a little as its hooked tail arced over its body and its claws opened and closed in his direction. Harry lowered his wand, watching the Patronus with a somewhat stricken look on his face. 

“Is Draco not coming himself?” McGonagall asked him in a low voice. Harry looked at her and shook his head, then turned back to Scorpius.

“I’m sorry Scorpius, I asked him to stay at the Manor since-since we still don’t know how this happened.”

“It’s okay,” Scorpius repeated automatically, watching the Patronus. “I’m okay,” he murmured to it, unsure if it was capable of understanding or communicating his message. The scorpion went still for a moment, looking up at him, before it pulled apart on a breeze from the open window like a candle going out. Scorpius lowered his arm back to his side, closing his hand tight.

“A very strong Patronus,” McGonagall said, “to travel so far.”

Scorpius nodded but said nothing, looking down at the floor. 

“Unless you need me for anything else, Headmistress, I was going to check on Albus,” Harry said.

“No, it’s alright; go to him. We’ll be down shortly.”

After he had left McGonagall remained standing in front of her desk, deep in thought while Scorpius waited, feeling nervous again. She was almost as tall as Aberforth, with the elongated physique of a heron and large, heavily-lidded eyes that always looked weary.

“I am awarding you fifty points for the bravery and devotion which you have displayed tonight,” she said, “but I want you to understand that blood magic is forbidden at Hogwarts.”

Scorpius nodded.

“I understand, thank you ma’am.”

“The spell which was trapping Mr. Potter released on its own for unknown reasons.”

“Yes ma’am.”

The Headmistress hesitated, watching him.

“Scorpius, I taught your grandfather, and your father. I watched them grow up in this castle,” she paused again, a flicker of deep emotion in her eyes before she went on, her voice catching slightly, “I have every reason to believe that you are capable of great things.”

He could tell that it wasn’t what she had really wanted to say, but he also knew that she wished she had said it sooner.

 

When McGonagall pushed open the door to the Hospital Wing Scorpius gasped aloud. The privacy curtain was gone; Albus was propped up by pillows and talking to Harry, who was sitting next to the bed holding Albus’ left hand in both of his own. Madame Pomfrey was standing at the bedside table pouring a measure of potion.

“Oh thank magic,” McGonagall breathed as she and Scorpius hurried forward. Albus turned to them, his face breaking into a grin that practically sparkled when he saw Scorpius. 

“You-you’re okay,” Scorpius said, blinking at him in amazement. The other boy nodded blithely and took the cup that Madame Pomfrey handed to him.

“How did he come out of it, Poppy?” McGonagall asked.

Madame Pomfrey shook her head somewhat helplessly, her relief clearly tempered by bewilderment.

“He just did, less than five minutes ago; opened his eyes and asked for Mr. Malfoy as though nothing was amiss.” She smiled at Scorpius. 

“And you feel alright, Potter?” asked McGonagall. Albus handed his now empty cup back to Madam Pomfrey and nodded again.

“Yes Headmistress; my legs and feet are pretty sore, but otherwise I feel fine.”

Scorpius’ heart sank.

“I…I think that might have been me,” he said, “I was casting spells on them, I’m sorry.”

Albus shook his head, looking incredulous.

“Don’t apologize for that; it’s nothing. You saved my life.”

As he smiled at the other boy Scorpius was aware of Harry quietly watching the exchange, his expression thoughtful. He cleared his throat and patted Albus’ hand.

“I need to speak with Madame Pomfrey and the Headmistress for a moment Al, is that okay?”

“Of course.”

Harry put a hand on the back of Albus’ neck and leaned forward to kiss the side of his head. As he stood up he smiled at the two of them.

“I like the haircuts, by the way.”

Albus laughed.

“Thanks Dad.”

“Thank you sir-Mr. Potter.”

McGonagall touched Albus’ shoulder briefly before following Madame Pomfrey and Harry to the windowed office at the back of the room. Once the adults were inside the office Albus gestured towards the chair his father had just vacated. Scorpius walked around the bed and sat down, still feeling shaky.

“You’re really okay?”

“I really am,” Albus said, raising his eyebrows a little as though Scorpius was fussing over him. Then, lowering his voice, he said, “I didn’t tell them about your dream.” 

Scorpius looked down, grateful that his back was to the office.

“Thank you.”

“So now you have to tell me what that was all about.”

Scorpius took a deep breath, twisting his fingers in his lap.

“In the dream,” he began, “we went through the meadow on our way to Hogsmeade. It was a little bigger in the dream and farther from the village, but the tree was exactly the same. We-we were both stuck to the ground and you…you were changing, transforming into a black bird or something.”

Albus’ eyes widened a little. 

“There was music coming from the village, the same song that they were singing tonight. I told you we had to run, and then I woke up.”

They were both silent for a while after he’d finished. Finally Albus shifted a little on the bed and managed a playful smile.

“So what are you, a prophet or something?”

“Kind of,” Scorpius muttered.

The other boy blinked.

“Wait, seriously?”

Scorpius nodded, feeling as though a weight he hadn’t been aware of was lifting from his shoulders.

“I have Second Sight. Professor Robins has been training me on how to use it.”

“How long has this been going on?”

“Since last year.”

Albus sat back from him a little, frowning.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

Scorpius felt himself blushing and hated it.

“Because it’s embarrassing. I didn’t want anyone to know.”

“Merlin’s beard, Scorpius,” Albus said on a laugh, “How are you such an idiot?”

Scorpius looked up at him, surprised.

“Excuse me?” 

“If you hadn’t had that dream who knows what would’ve happened out there tonight?”

In his mind Scorpius could still see the panic in Albus’ eyes as he tried to run but couldn’t, and he could still feel the way Albus’ head had lolled against him as he fell.

“I don’t want to think about it.”

Albus smacked the back of Scorpius' head and then pulled him into a hug.

“Then be _happy_ you numpty! Be happy that we’re both alright and that you’re some kind of magical bloody superhero!”

Scorpius closed his eyes and returned the hug. The other boy was warm and still smelled like smoke from the bonfire. Scorpius held him tighter, desperate to forget everything else.

“I’ll try,” he said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love this chapter so hard you guys! It went through a pretty significant rewrite and is sooooo much better than it was before. Big thanks to ArtisticRae for helping me impose logic and think about the physics of Patronuses (Patroni?) Also I'm turning 30 tomorrow!


	13. The Fox in the Forest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Concerns and theories about what happened in Hogsmeade abound, and Scorpius receives a letter.

“What if it was Death Eaters?” Nerys whispered, her eyes wide and wet at the edges, “They must think it was Dark magic to keep us here like this.”

Candy and Claudette both put their arms around her as she began to cry again. In lieu of more definitive instructions, the chaperoning prefects seemed to have decided that the most helpful thing they could do was to conduct head counts of all the students every half hour. There was a pause in their conversation as Candy, Nerys, and Claudette were designated ten, eleven, and twelve, respectively, by the sixth-year Ravenclaw girl who seemed to have been assigned to their section of the crowd. 

“It was probably just one of the older kids playing a prank on them or something,” Claudette said gently, “Besides, there aren’t any more Death Eaters.”

Nerys wrapped her thin arms tightly around herself and tossed her hair back dramatically, traces of blue glitter still lingering on her tear-streaked face. 

“There are always more Death Eaters,” she raised her eyebrows pointedly at Claudette, “I think _I_ would know.”

Claudette opened her mouth and closed it again, looking somewhat chastened with her red cellophane fairy wings starting to come apart. It was something that the three of them had only ever talked about once before; how most of Nerys’ family had either vanished or been imprisoned during the war. Candy didn’t know what to think. Normally she would have been inclined to agree with Claudette, that it was probably just a prank or bullying, but she couldn’t help remembering what Scorpius had told her and Albus about his mother. 

The incident had occurred less than half an hour after the bonfire was lit, when the band had started playing again and Candy, Claudette, and Nerys had been singing with the others. From the far side of the crowd there had suddenly been raised voices and people breaking away, all running in the same direction. Candy had barely had time to wonder what was going on before the teachers called for all of them to stay put. It didn’t take long for the news to trickle through the crowd that something bad had happened to Albus and Scorpius, and that they had been taken back to the castle. Professor Dalca had arrived with a strange man who she introduced as an Auror from the Ministry of Magic, and they had instructed everyone to remain where they were until given permission to leave. The students had clumped together in loud, restless huddles, most of them unconcerned or mocking as they ate their Halloween candy, but some, like Nerys, clearly worried that what had happened was an ominous prelude. This disparity was reflected in the villagers, many of whom complained loudly about not being able to return to their homes while others quietly focused their efforts on keeping the bonfire going and casting heating spells on the more underdressed students as the night grew colder.

It was almost ten o’ clock before Professor Longbottom announced that they could go back to Hogwarts. Other professors had come from the castle to help escort them and along with a number of volunteers from Hogsmeade they formed an impressive barrier around the students, walking in formation with their lit wands held up like torches as the road took them out of the village and into the forest. Most of the students had their wands lit as well and Candy felt as though she was walking in a grim Halloween parade. Even the students who had openly scoffed at the precautions being taken seemed to have been worn down by fatigue and boredom, and trudged along in relative silence. Candy was uncomfortably aware of the silent expanse of the Forbidden Forest as it drew in and rose up around their raft of wand light, her mind full of ghosts and monsters and Dark magic.

 

Dalca narrowed her blue-grey eyes at Harry.

“Was that really what he said?” Her accent twisted and flowed around the words like water through a maze. Harry nodded. The younger woman was standing perfectly straight with her feet planted on the floor like the prongs of a compass, her hands on her hips. Harry and McGonagall had come to Dalca’s office to meet with her now that the other students and teachers had returned safely to the castle. The Headmistress had made strong tea for the three of them but Dalca’s remained untouched on her desk. She showed no signs of fatigue even though it was past midnight, but beyond that Harry found it difficult to read her expression. 

“It was,” McGonagall said, taking a sip of her tea.

“You’re sure he wasn’t lying?”

“I don’t think he was,” Harry said, remembering the way Scorpius had blushed to the roots of his hair, “And to a certain extent his story bears out; Albus confirmed the effects of the spell when he woke up, Aberforth saw the blood when he found them…”

“‘To a certain extent’,” Minerva echoed, shaking her head.

“Except that blood magic is different,” Dalca said, seeming to pick up the thread of McGonagall’s thought, “Its focus is not pronunciation and wandwork, it’s just power and will,” she hesitated, and something vulnerable seemed to hover over her for the space of a breath, “It is built up to.”

“Not the sort of thing that a twelve-year-old does spontaneously when he’s desperate and scared,” Harry supplied quietly. The Headmistress’ teacup made a dignified little _clink_ as she set it on Dalca’s desk. She removed her spectacles and set them on top of her head like a spindly tiara, massaging her closed eyes for a moment with her fingertips.

“The pressing questions,” she said, “How was Albus trapped in the first place?”

Dalca cleared her throat and stood up straighter, her soldierly manner returning.

“Now that I’ve heard Malfoy’s story I think we should go through what’s left of the bonfire. With so many people in disguise it would have been easy to add ingredients, something in the smoke to bring Potter under.”

“That’s a good idea,” Harry said, and she nodded in the slightly impatient way that was becoming familiar to him.

“The villagers were told to not disturb anything, and your Auror is still there keeping watch. I can meet with him after we are done here.”

McGonagall was watching her with a kind of weary awe.

“Amalia, promise me that at some point today you will sleep.”

For the first time that night Dalca smiled.

“I promise, Headmistress.”

“Good. Other pressing questions?”

The three of them were silent. Harry had long since drained the last of his tea and could feel the caffeine sparking dully through his nerves. With Albus awake and safe he felt his lingering fatherly concern directing itself towards the only other injured child in proximity. The oddness of the fact that this was Scorpius Malfoy was not lost on him, but he couldn’t deny that the truth of Draco’s Patronus had shaken him deeply. It made so much of their shared history seem inconsequential, as did their sons’ undisputed affection for each other.

“The thing I keep coming back to,” he said finally, “Is how Scorpius’ mother learned that spell…and what else did she teach him?”

 

The next morning Candy forced herself to wait until seven before getting up and rushing to the Hospital Wing. To her intense relief she found Albus awake and perfectly fine, sitting up in bed with Lily cuddled next to him while they ate toast and fruit from his breakfast tray. Rose and Hugo were sitting on chairs next to the bed and James was standing at the end of it with his arms folded across his chest, looking sober and watchful. The most space, inevitably, was taken up by Hagrid, who came over and swept Candy up into a teary hug as soon as he saw her.

“He’s gonna be fine,” he said at once, and Candy had the feeling that it was something he’d said numerous times that morning. The communal sense of relief in the room was so strong that Rose got up from her chair and hugged Candy as well before she was finally able to reach and hug Albus. 

“Where’s Scorpius?” Candy asked, “Is he okay?”

Out of the corner of her eye Candy saw James give a little shake of his head as he turned away to look out the window. Albus smiled at her, seemingly unaware of his brother’s reaction.

“He’s fine; he went back to the dorm last night.”

“What happened?”

As Albus explained the mysterious spell and its equally mysterious demise, Candy had the distinct impression that he wasn’t telling her the whole story. Lily watched him silently as he spoke, a large strawberry as round and red as a heart suspended on its way to her mouth, and Candy wondered if she suspected this too. For his part Hagrid stood with his hands on his hips, nodding along, and if he had any misgivings about Albus’ story Candy couldn’t tell.

“But I’m fine now,” Albus finished, smiling reassuringly at all of them, “So no harm done.”

There was a staccato exhalation of breath from the end of the bed as James shook his head and walked away towards the door. Rose looked at Albus apologetically.

“You didn’t see him last night, Al; he was going spare over you.”

Albus shrugged.

“Whatever.”

Moments later Madame Pomfrey emerged from her office to shoo them away so that she could do a final checkup on Albus, promising that he would be discharged by lunchtime. Candy waited for the others to say their goodbyes, and once they had started walking towards the door she bent over the bed to give Albus another hug.

“Promise we’ll talk later?”

“I promise,” he whispered.

When Candy emerged into the hallway she found a strange family row in progress. It was being conducted entirely in whispers, with James and Rose squared off against each other while Hagrid and Lily watched and Hugo shifted nervously from one foot to the other, looking as though he was steeling himself to mediate. 

“We don’t even know if Scorpius had anything to do with it!” Rose hissed.

James rolled his eyes and took a step back from her, as though the force of his incredulity had thrown him off-balance.

“Oh please Rose, you can’t really be that stupid.”

“James,” Hagrid growled.

“Look I’m sorry, okay? I didn’t mean that, but,” he raked his hands through his dark auburn hair while Rose glared at him, “Do you seriously think this would’ve happened if he wasn’t tied to Malfoy’s ankle the way he is?”

It was clear that Rose wanted a retort for this but she couldn’t seem to find one, and as Candy thought about it neither could she. His allegiance to Scorpius was a big part of why people picked on Albus, and if what had happened in Hogsmeade wasn’t a prank…

 _It still might come back to Scorpius,_ she thought.

“Yer not bein’ fair,” Hagrid said.

“Tough,” James said, rounding on him, “I’d rather be unfair than blind. Centuries of Dark magic don’t just vanish out of nowhere and the next time this happens Al might not be so lucky.”

He turned on his heel and began walking away, but when Lily went after him and caught his hand he didn’t shake her off, and the two of them continued on in silence.

 

During the first week of November Scorpius could feel a shift in the atmosphere of silences, whispers, and not-quite stares which seemed to be as much a part of his life as oxygen. The knowledge ebbed and flowed through his mind like a hot gritty wind as he navigated his days, in spite of his efforts to ignore them and keep his Sight under control. At first most people believed that what had happened to Albus had been a prank gone too far, but then no one took credit for it. In the absence of a direct explanation all that was left were the rumors and the renewed distrust of Malfoys which had been seeded for most of term. While other wealthy and powerful families had produced Death Eaters, it would never be forgotten that Voldemort had lived and killed in Malfoy Manor. A whole generation of children had failed to emerge from families depleted by the war, and in their absence Scorpius felt the stigma of being unwelcome, of being pushed forward into the sunlight by a dark enduring root. Even among his teachers, who persevered tirelessly in their mission of fairness and reconciliation, Scorpius caught the occasional flicker of uncertainty. The cut above his heart took almost three weeks to heal and it still hurt sometimes, a sudden ache that would take him by surprise, as though he was being chastised against forgetting. Abiding by the Headmistress’ direction, he hadn’t told anyone about the blood spell, and Albus had seemed surprised but not upset to discover that Candy already knew about Scorpius’ Second Sight. With characteristic enthusiasm Albus had already volunteered himself for mind-reading practice but Scorpius had demurred, saying he would have to check with Robins as to whether or not this was permitted. 

Surprisingly, one area of Scorpius’ social life that seemed to be improving was Falconry. No one had challenged his presence in the club since their first meeting, and increasingly he got the impression that he was being accepted among them. It wasn’t obvious in any spoken or demonstrated way, but whenever their heads turned to mark his arrival Scorpius felt a kind of neutral recognition pass between them. 

Within the castle he had quickly begun to notice that his club mates were generally regarded as tough cases among the professors and other students. Bill Rowe, the Gryffindor with aquamarine eyes and missing teeth, had been given so many detentions for fighting that the Headmistress had been granted permission by the Board of Governors to put a monitoring spell on him. If he started to exhibit any kind of aggressive behavior he would automatically be put into a full-body bind which could only be broken by a professor. The twins, Euan and Elliot, were almost as fierce and generally regarded as Rowe’s lackeys, often retaliating on his behalf when he was in detention. Noah, also in Gryffindor, was a first year who clearly idolized Rowe and the twins and was therefore included in their group as a kind of apprentice. The club’s only girl was named Hank; the rumor was that her family was nomadic and that she’d been raised rough with four older brothers who had all opted out of formal schooling. Once when she’d teamed up with Edmund and Scorpius during practice she told them that she’d been trained to handle predatory birds when she was six. Her hawk could already hunt specific game and would deposit dead rabbits at her feet like a hopeful student before a large and formidable schoolmaster. The other Ravenclaws treated her like a feral animal, with the exception of Lily, who had been intent on befriending her since the first day of school. 

Without discussion or apparent agenda Edmund had become Scorpius’ de facto training partner and gradually it occurred to him that they seemed to be forming an odd sort of friendship. Aside from the fact that they were both wizards at Hogwarts who enjoyed Falconry, they didn’t seem to have anything in common. Edmund neither talked nor seemed to have any interest in talking beyond what was necessary for communicating Jaime’s lessons. He didn’t participate in any sports or other extracurricular activities and expressed no preference for any of his school subjects. Scorpius couldn’t begin to guess why Edmund had decided to take him under his wing, but he appreciated the older boy’s steady, quiet ways. Even though Scorpius often saw him around the castle, it was always difficult to remember that Edmund actually attended school with him. The perpetual currents of student drama, gossip, and infighting were like a shallow puddle at his feet, so little did they seem to touch him. It was unclear, for example, whether or not Edmund was even aware of what had happened in Hogsmeade, though Scorpius knew he must be. 

In addition to training with the club every other Sunday, Scorpius had started taking his hawk out in the morning before class whenever he woke up early and couldn’t get back to sleep. The castle, lake, and Hogsmeade were surrounded by mountains and to the north, behind the castle, there was a cliff overlooking a river valley. While the Forbidden Forest was off-limits to students, the narrow band of wooded area which ran between the grounds and the eastern foothills wasn’t. During Falconry this was where they worked on more intensive obedience training; the first time Scorpius tried it he had ended up under an unscalable pine tree for three hours trying to call Albus down. 

It was a rainy Tuesday morning and Scorpius was walking through the underbrush following Albus, who was flitting from tree to tree above him in search of a warm, bloody breakfast. Without their leaves the thick tangle of branches above him didn’t offer much protection from the rain and Scorpius kept the fur-lined leather hood of his winter cloak over his head. The bark of the trees was almost black, covered in lacy electric green moss, and the forest floor was clotted with leaves the color of brown bread. Every now and then he lifted his head and gave a command whistle to make sure that Albus would pause and circle back towards him. The hawk had just returned, alighting on a low branch nearby, when a rustle in the underbrush ahead of them caught Scorpius’ attention. The sound came again, a little louder, and a fox emerged between two trees. Its fur was a rich dark amber color and as it picked its way delicately over the forest floor on long black legs, heading unmistakably in Scorpius’ direction, he saw that there was something around its neck. When the fox spotted Albus, who was already poised to attack, it paused and crouched low, bristling. 

“It’s okay,” Scorpius said, holding up a hand and waiting for the bird to relax its posture. When it did Scorpius turned back to the fox and knelt down, holding out his hand.

“It’s okay,” he murmured again, and the fox came to him warily. While his first thought had been that the animal was wearing a collar, Scorpius now saw that it was a small drawstring pouch made of rough brown leather. The fox came closer, sniffing at his outstretched hand, and Scorpius shivered as a cold bloom of certainty suddenly opened in the pit of his stomach. For a moment he hesitated and then brought his fingertips to the pouch. 

“Is this for me?” he asked, watching the fox. When the creature didn’t pull away from him he carefully drew the pouch open, all the while aware of Albus’ concerned rustling. Inside the pouch was a tightly wound scroll of parchment, sealed with the Greengrass insignia in plum-colored wax. Once Scorpius had removed the scroll from the pouch the fox gave a little toss of its head and shot away like a red arrow, disappearing almost immediately, its footfalls quiet as a heartbeat. After it had gone the forest was just as still as it had been before, filled with the soft pattering rain, but Scorpius was abruptly aware of the space around him and his distance from the castle. He straightened up and held out his arm to Albus.

“C’mon, I’m sure you can find something to eat closer to Hogwarts.”

By the time they reached the owlery Albus had caught a squirrel, and as he tore it apart in his nest high overhead, Scorpius used his wand to break the scroll’s wax seal. He couldn’t stop his hands from shaking a little as he unrolled the parchment and saw his mother’s handwriting.

 

_Dear Scorpius,_

 _I know that an apology is not adequate considering how overdue this letter is. The past two months have been the most difficult of my life and the fact that I am so far away from you has only made them worse. I can’t imagine how you’re feeling or what you must think of me, and circumstances are such that I will not be able to receive letters for a while, so the benefit of your responses will be lost. As always I hope that you are well and safe, and that your friends and teachers are sources of comfort for you. I hope that you are dutiful in you lessons and that your work provides you with a sense of accomplishment. In addition to these good things I believe that you also deserve an explanation, and that’s why I’m writing to you now. It has been a challenge to decide where to begin, but I think I’ve finally found it. I’m going to tell you about magic, Scorpius. I’m going to tell you everything._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, this was a chapter that really put me through my paces. I hadn't planned for there to be more than one POV, but after wrestling with it for awhile I finally had to surrender to the fact that I needed to be in too many places at once if I wanted all of this to be a single chapter. I kept the events chronological so that (hopefully) the shift from Candy to Harry to Candy to Scorpius won't be too confusing.


	14. Scorpius' Boggart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's time for final exams as first term comes to an end, but Scorpius has much more than schoolwork on his mind.

_In the beginning there was only magic, free-flowing and vital. One of the most inaccurate assumptions about magic is that it’s à la carte, like a grocery store where people can classify and make choices about what they want and what they don’t. A more accurate description would be that magic is like a body, in which every system and organ is connected to the others. In cutting ourselves off from one part of magic we cut ourselves off from the whole._

 

Scorpius’ stomach growled hungrily and he put his hand over it, squinting to read his mother’s steady, elegant handwriting by the light of the dormitory fire. He was lying on his back in bed, restlessly awake. Although he hadn’t checked he assumed that, as usual, Albus was already up, but from what he could hear everyone else was still asleep. 

The first parchment scroll, and the one that had been delivered a week later, were already starting to grow soft around the edges due to his frequent handling of them, and were always warm because he kept them close. During the day he felt the letters in the breast pocket of his robes like small living animals, as though at any moment they might squirm or make some sort of noise to reveal themselves. He hadn’t told anyone about them. After the first letter arrived Scorpius had gone to the eastern forest every day, looking for the red fox, but the second letter had been brought by a deer, a young doe heavy with child who had allowed Scorpius to stroke the side of her neck as he removed the scroll from its leather pouch. He’d never heard of other animals in the magical world delivering mail the way birds and owls did. It made him feel discombobulated, almost giddy, as though he’d lost track of the difference between reality and dreams. _Someday I’ll teach you;_ Astoria had said in the first letter, _any animal can be a messenger._

It was so good to hear from her; when Scorpius read the letters he could hear her voice as clearly as if she were standing next to him. He could smell her and remembered the way she would smile when she sang to him. Even his disappointment at the fact that she hadn’t yet given him an explanation for her _Prophet_ interview was dulled by the relief of contact. The idea that she might send another letter, and another letter after that, was almost overwhelming, and Scorpius wondered if he had already started to forget her during her absence. It was a terrible thought, impossible to comprehend, like forgetting his own name.

Finally yielding to his hunger, Scorpius rolled up the letter and got out of bed, tucking it into his robes after dressing silently in the firelight. It was the second Saturday of December and he had made plans to study with Albus and Candy. In an effort to get a head start on finals they’d blocked off the whole day to catch up on homework, studying, and the various Trials that they were working on. For the most part Scorpius had been looking forward to it; schoolwork was for him what he imagined jogging was for other people. He lost himself in the rhythms of it, could almost feel his brain feasting on information like an elastic hunched animal, and would emerge hours later sated and pleasantly spent.

Albus was reading on the windowsill in the common room, and the happiness that Scorpius felt at seeing him was undiminished since Halloween. Just as Albus had said it would, his hair was growing back much faster than Scorpius’, the ends already starting to curl around the tops of his ears. Scorpius smiled to himself. _They still look pointy._

“Good morning,” he said.

Albus looked up at him and smiled.

“Good morning.”

“Do you know if Candy’s up yet?”

The other boy looked around the common room and shook his head.

“I don’t know; I haven’t seen her.”

“That’s alright,” Scorpius said, sitting down near Albus’ feet, “I don’t mind waiting.” His book bag landed on the stone sill with a heavy _thud_ as though in agreement. Still tired, he closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the window, listening to the papery whisper of Albus’ book pages being turned.

“Is that due today or something?” he asked after a moment, opening his eyes, “You’re zipping right along. What is it?”

Albus stopped and held up the book so that Scorpius could see the cover. He recognized it at once from the Herbology Trials list.

“ _Carnivorous Rhododendrons and Other Botanical Battlefields_ ; I didn’t know you’d checked that one out.” 

“I didn’t, Marcus did.”

“Is he letting you take a turn with it to avoid the waiting list?”

Albus shook his head brightly.

“No, Marcus reckons he’s figured out how the professors are making sure that we’re actually reading the Trials books and he asked if I could help.”

Scorpius frowned, confused.

“What do you mean?”

Albus sat up a little straighter, looking pleased with himself.

“He thinks there must be some kind of spell on the books that keeps track of page turns, so when he returns this one to the library and gives Madame Sylvestra his Trials guide she’ll sign off on the book ‘cuz the spell will tell her that he read it.”

“Even though it was just you turning the pages?” 

Albus nodded, and at first Scorpius didn’t quite know how to respond. It seemed as though he’d either misunderstood or that Albus was playing a trick on him.

“So you’re saying that Marcus…asked you to help him complete one of his Trials by pretending to read the book for him?”

Albus nodded again.

“Yah, it’s an experiment.”

“It-” Scorpius hesitated, still expecting Albus to start laughing and give the joke away, “It also kind of sounds like…cheating.”

Albus blinked, a quizzical line appearing between his eyebrows.

“Do you think so?”

“Well yah, if-if you’re helping him get credit for something he didn’t actually do. Assuming that his theory about the spell is even true.”

The other boy continued to look perplexed and after an awkward silence Scorpius heard himself give a somewhat forced laugh.

“You’re having me on right now.”

Albus smiled one of his sweet crooked smiles and giggled.

“I am.”

Scorpius laughed again and shook his head.

“It’s not fair to do that to me when I’m still half asleep.”

Before Albus could respond the door to the second-year girls’ dormitory opened with a slow belabored creak to reveal Candy, still bleary-eyed in her pajamas and carrying her shower caddy. She waved away their greetings with a surly look as she headed down the hall to the lavatory, but less than an hour later the three of them were making their way to the Great Hall for breakfast. Candy didn’t say a word to them until she’d poured herself a cup of coffee from the steaming carafe on their table, inhaling the smell of it with her eyes closed.

“I didn’t know you drank coffee,” Scorpius said.

She gave him a tired smile.

“I never used to. My mum lives off it. I used to try hers when I was little and always thought it was disgusting, but with all this studying I think I’ve finally figured out the point of coffee. It’s not supposed to taste good, it’s just supposed to wake you up.”

Scorpius lifted his glass of orange juice in a toast.

“To Hogwarts.”

Candy and Albus both laughed and returned the toast.

“To Hogwarts.”

The approach of finals was evident in how many people were in the library when they arrived. Most of the tables on the first floor were already taken, stacked with books and papers as though their occupants had been there for hours. Madame Sylvestra was hunched in her swivel chair behind the desk staring grimly into her own cup of coffee, her hair stuck through with wooden kebab skewers that formed a large X at the back of her head. When she saw Scorpius she held up the last three fingers of her right hand and winked at him, which Scorpius took to mean that his favorite table on the third floor was still free. As they made their way to the main staircase he caught Candy grinning at him out of the corner of his eye, and was deeply grateful that Albus hadn’t jumped in to comment on the winking.

Sure enough the third floor table was free and they spent the rest of the morning there. The sky beyond their narrow window was dark with winter rain, making the passage of time rather difficult to track. Even the third floor, which was usually quieter, had more students wandering through, squinting up at the stacks of books with the ubiquitous Trials guides in their hands. Overall Scorpius thought that he was in decent shape for finals; overdue assignments were automatically given half marks, but he was still relieved that he’d finished and turned his in. He was halfway through that week’s assignments and had lists of what was going to be covered in the final exams for each of his classes. The only area in which he still felt himself to be lacking was the Scholar’s Trials. Aside from using the hair clippers for Muggle Studies he’d only completed four other tasks, two of which were also for Muggle Studies. The other two were for Divination. Candy, on the other hand, had completed one task a week since the beginning of term.

“How the bloody hell are you managing this?” Scorpius asked, looking over her Trials guides in bewilderment.

She leaned her head against her hand, looking proud and exhausted.

“I’ve been going through my classes alphabetically,” she listed them off on her fingers, “Astronomy, Charms, DADA, Divination, Herbology, History, Latin, Muggle Studies, Potions, and Transfiguration, doing one task for each, then I go back to the beginning. I’m only doing practical because I still take too long with reading and writing.” She sighed, “Luckily Gagnon only has us do in-class work for Etymology.”

Albus shook his head.

“That’s amazing, Candy. I haven’t done that many.”

“Neither have I,” Scorpius said on a laugh.

Candy reached over and took her guides from him, her cheeks going slightly pink.

“I’m still behind on everything else,” she muttered, “It takes me a whole week to write a sodding paper.”

Sensing that she didn’t want any more admiration, Scorpius changed the subject as discreetly as he could and Albus followed his lead. By two o’clock they were all ravenously hungry and agreed that after lunch they would go outside to practice spells. Scorpius knew that Defense Against the Dark Arts was looming in their minds; Professor Dalca had been dropping maddening hints for weeks about what their final was going to be, and they’d heard rumors that she was building something in the ruined courtyards on the north side of the grounds. As they made their way out of the library Scorpius could feel the edges of Astoria’s letters against his chest and an idea that had been fermenting in his mind presented itself to him.

“Hey,” he said, “I actually wanted to see if Robins is in her office to ask her something, but I’ll catch up with you, okay?”

“Okay,” Albus and Candy said together, Albus smiling and Candy giving Scorpius a somewhat appraising look before they turned away and kept walking. Once they’d rounded the corner at the end of the hall Scorpius went in the opposite direction, picturing the route in his head so that their paths wouldn’t cross.

Dalca’s office was in the back of the DADA classroom at the top of a small flight of stone stairs, and Scorpius had only taken three steps into the empty classroom before she appeared in the office doorway, standing like a mythological hero about to be cast in bronze. Her expression seemed to relax a little when she saw him.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Malfoy; did you need something?”

Scorpius swallowed, trying not to lose his nerve.

“I actually just wanted to ask you something, Professor, if you have a minute.”

She nodded and held out her hand, indicating the room behind her.

“Please come into my office.”

Unsurprisingly, Dalca’s office was every bit as utilitarian as her classroom, and Scorpius wondered how she could work there without feeling like she was in a prison cell. The floor and walls were stone and the only pieces of furniture were her desk and two wooden chairs. The walls were bare except for a large world map, which seemed jarringly white and fresh compared to the rest of the room. Dalca closed the door behind him.

“Please take a seat,” she said, walking around him to sit at her desk. She was wearing her standard soldier ballerina uniform with one slight difference; her strawberry-blonde hair was in a French braid instead of a bun. To his surprise Scorpius felt his Sight pulling towards this detail at once, and tried to focus on his reason for coming to her.

“What was your question, Mr. Malfoy?”

Her gaze was intense and Scorpius reminded himself to not fidget.

“Professor, I was wondering…what makes magic Dark?”

There was a pause and Dalca narrowed her eyes a little.

“If I remember correctly you were present in my class all last year, Mr. Malfoy.”

“I know, I mean, I remember, ‘Dark magic is that which does lasting serious harm to the self or to others’,” he recited, “It’s just…that seems kind of subjective.”

She blinked and sat up a little straighter, her hands folded in her lap. _Red_ , Scorpius thought, _she’s wearing red with her hands folded in front of her, waiting for the music to start._

“Please explain what you mean,” she said.

Scorpius took a moment to allow himself to see the image clearly. _Dalca was a little girl with her hair in braids, wearing a white dress with a red apron and dancing shoes. Red flowers and vines were embroidered along the edges of her sleeves._ It was something Professor Robins had been coaching him on, giving into his Sight rather than resisting when he needed to focus. To his relief it seemed to help, and he cleared his throat. 

“What I mean is, how do you determine what someone’s doing to themselves? And what counts as ‘lasting serious harm’?”

Professor Dalca didn’t move but the expression in her eyes changed. It was a long minute before she answered, and when she did her voice had lost its professional crispness.

“That’s a very logical question; I don’t know that I will be able to answer it adequately. The witches and wizards who first began the process of governing magic in an organized way…fully understood what they were doing.”

“What do you mean?”

She hesitated, watching him.

“There have always been magic users, all over the world, but in ancient times it was more…tribal, according to tribe. The kinds of magic you could perform, and your interaction with non-magical people, depended on the leaders of your tribe. Some had many rules, others had none. The rules we have today were created by witches and wizards of every land and belief who came together out of the necessity for order.”

Scorpius frowned, trying to work through this. 

“Are you saying that…some of those witches and wizards were Dark?”

Another pause.

“Yes,” Dalca said finally, “Today a great many of them would be considered Dark. But along with their power they also had wisdom, and the discipline to recognize that their power needed boundaries. The old ways had given them chaos and generations of bloodshed, and they made the decision to work for peace, for the safety of us all.”

Scorpius thought he understood what she was saying, but he was also aware of the fact that she hadn’t really answered his questions. She knew what he had done on Halloween, and part of Scorpius just wanted to come out and ask. _Why was it wrong? Was it Dark? The cut healed; Albus and I are fine._ Dalca gave him a thoughtful look, evidently sensing his disappointment.

“I hope that’s helpful. If you have any more questions about magical history specifically, I’m sure Professor Devereaux would be happy to help you.”

Scorpius nodded and got to his feet, hoisting his book bag back onto his shoulder.

“It was helpful, thank you Professor.”

She remained at her desk as he left the office and he could feel her listening to his footsteps as he went down the stairs and left the classroom. Once he was halfway to the Great Hall he found a deserted corner and pulled Astoria’s second letter out of his pocket.

 

_Less than a century after the dawn of governance magic had become shackled. Witches and wizards who had once been able to call forth rivers by will alone were unable to work the simplest spells without words and wands to pull their magic out of them. Ancient wizarding families began to give birth to non-magical children; Squibs are still thought to be cursed in less civilized parts of the world, where they’re often mistreated and abandoned. Like Muggles they suffer unjustly because we have allowed ourselves to become crippled._

 

It was difficult to not feel frustrated. Professor Dalca and his mother seemed to be telling two sides of the same story, and Scorpius sensed that a final answer wouldn’t be found in the grey area between them. He folded the parchment up again and returned it to his pocket, reminding himself that his mother wasn’t finished. Another letter was coming.

The maelstrom of finals week descended on Hogwarts with all of its usual harbingers; pranks, fights, nervous fits among students and weariness among teachers. Word had gotten out (Scorpius guessed James was the source) that Albus wasn’t going home for break, and the feasting hive mind of student gossip had latched onto it. The theories ranged from obscene to murderous, but the general theme was that Scorpius was on his way to some sort of Dark coronation and had bewitched Albus into being either a sacrifice or a consort, or both. Scorpius knew it wouldn’t do any good to point out that it had been Albus’ idea to stay, and it would do even less good to admit how worried he was that the other boy would change his mind. 

As much as he tried to reason with and inflict guilt upon himself, the idea of going back to the Manor filled Scorpius with resentment. Draco had done exactly nothing in the months since Astoria’s interview to stand up for himself or to reach out to Scorpius, and the idea of punishing him by staying away was at once painful and deeply satisfying. The letter Scorpius had written explaining that he was staying at Hogwarts had been as light and neutral as possible after three rewrites, and he wasn’t surprised in the least that Draco still hadn’t responded.

Thursday afternoon found Albus, Candy, and Scorpius following Professor Dalca out into another chilly grey day with the rest of the Slytherin second-years for their Defense Against the Dark Arts final. It was their second to last exam and over the course of the week the mood of the class had gone from anxiety to resignation to anxious optimism. From their chatter as they made their way through the grounds, it seemed to Scorpius that most of his classmates were more curious than fearful about what Dalca’s test would entail.

“Are you ready for this?” Candy asked Scorpius and Albus as they walked. Clearly trying to prepare for anything, she was wearing slacks and sturdy shoes, her hair secured away from her face in a tight braid. She’d been relentless that week, carrying her flashcards everywhere she went and studying before class, between classes, at mealtimes, and at night before bed. She spent so much time practicing spells that her magic was starting to flare and sputter at random times; everyone who touched her got a shock of static electricity and she’d accidentally made a juice glass shatter during breakfast on Monday. As unexpected as it was, Scorpius definitely preferred this fierceness to seeing her in defeated tears.

“I hope so,” he said, “We practiced all the spells she told us to; I don’t think there was much else we could have done.”

Albus nodded, smiling encouragingly at both of them.

“That’s right; I think we’re going to do fine.” 

Dalca led them to the courtyards on the north side of the castle. There wasn’t much to see; a long stone wall about fifteen feet high stretched in front of them with one arched entrance and a cobblestone path going through it. The walls continued down on either side of the path like a hallway, with more archways on the right and left leading into the courtyards. The vegetation had been allowed to grow freely here, the wall was overrun with leafy vines and moss and the grass along its base was at least four feet high. Dalca stood in front of the archway facing them, her hands behind her back as she savored the moment.

“Welcome to your final exam, everyone. I’ve been working very hard on this and so I hope that you have as well. Within these courtyards are a number of magical obstacles for you to face using the offensive and defense spells we have been working on. Along with these obstacles there are also eleven red ribbons, one for each of you with your name written on it. Your task is to search the courtyards until you find your ribbon. You are not to take or tamper with another student’s ribbon in any way. When I give the signal all of you will proceed through this entrance behind me and will continue through the courtyards to the exit on the other side. You have one hour to complete the test and find your ribbon. In addition to your ability to defeat the obstacles, you are also being evaluated on your ability to navigate danger with others around you. A battle in the real world is rarely fought between the enemy and you alone.”

She paused, looking at them with sudden gravity, and Scorpius wondered what she saw. The speech had its intended effect; his classmates no longer looked curious and several of them had already set their book bags on the ground and taken out their wands.

“Are there any questions before we begin?”

They glanced around at each other for a moment, as though hoping that someone would have a question to delay the test, but when no one spoke up Dalca nodded and drew out her wand.

“Very well then.”

She said a spell Scorpius didn’t recognize, waving her wand over herself, and sprang from the ground to the top of the wall like a cat. Once there she stood with her hands on her hips, looking every bit the commander of a guerrilla army and called down to them.

“Ready yourselves!”

The rest of their book bags were abandoned on the grass and when Marcus took off his robes everyone immediately copied him, leaving the long cumbersome garments behind with their bags. They arranged themselves on the path facing the entrance, several people clearly resisting the urge to jostle and push their way to the front, aware of Dalca watching them. Scorpius’ heart was pounding as he gripped his wand, trying to remind himself that it was just a test; the worst thing that could happen was a bad grade. From where he stood he could just make out the exit at the end of the cobblestone path. Beside him Candy and Albus were steeling themselves as well and he found that he was glad he didn’t have to go in alone. 

“ _BEGIN!_ ”

They all took off running, and from his place at the back of the group Scorpius watched his classmates peel away from the path and into the courtyards as they passed under the arch. Almost at once he heard exclamations of surprise and the loud _crack_ and _pop_ of spells going off. The first two courtyards were overgrown and littered with broken bits of wall and debris. In one of them a massive cascade of vines had been magically animated, coiling like serpents and darting out aggressively when someone got too close. It had already caught Nerys and two of the other girls by their ankles and they were almost shrieking their spells, trying to get loose while avoiding the other vines. Scorpius could just make out three ribbons set deep within the writhing foliage, and Marcus and Bernard were trying to hit individual vines with paralyzing and weakening spells so they could get closer.

Even more confusion was erupting in the courtyard across the path; two ribbons were clearly visible but out of reach, tucked into cracks near the top of the farthest wall and certain stones in the floor seemed to have been enchanted with sticking spells. It was clear that everyone who hadn’t wanted to contend with the vines in the other courtyard had chosen this one instead. Every time they managed to free themselves from one stone they were immediately caught again as soon as they took another step, all shouting to each other about which stones were safe and which ones weren’t. Beside him Candy took a deep breath. 

“Okay, I think we should split up. We can cover more ground and find where the ribbons are without all getting trapped in the same spot.”

“Good idea,” Scorpius said, resisting the urge to look up and see if Professor Dalca was nearby listening to them, “And if we find each other’s ribbons we’ll let each other know where they are.”

“Deal,” Albus said, smiling.

Candy went to the next courtyard down, which was full of flowers, and Albus went into the one across from hers where a number of wooden crates had been stacked up around the walls like a building block city. The last two courtyards were still deserted and Scorpius hovered, indecisive, between them. A steady chorus of overlapping cries and spells was reverberating off the stone walls and he tried to block them out. The courtyard on his right was overgrown like all the others but otherwise appeared innocuous. A large piece of grimy linen had been tacked up over the entrance to the courtyard on his left. Scorpius shivered without knowing why and chose the one on the right. 

As soon as he stepped through its archway everything went black. He cried out in alarm, stumbling and almost falling over as he blinked into the sudden darkness. _It’s okay,_ he told himself, _it’s just a spell_. He closed his eyes, gripping his wand. The stones and grass beneath his feet were still there; he could feel the cold wet December air and hear his classmates. Someone in the next courtyard was shouting about pixies (“ _They’re in the flowers!_ ”) and Scorpius was trying to remember the chapter on Tactical Obfuscation from their textbook. He waved his wand blindly.

“ _Lumos maxima!_ ”

Nothing happened, but as he paused to think he caught something, a slight lightening above him that was extinguished as soon as he lifted his head to look at it. 

“Oh!” he said, suddenly remembering. _Certain darkness spells are triggered by movement_. Hoping that he was on the right track and that no one else would come barreling into the courtyard, Scorpius focused on being still. The darkness started to change almost at once, growing lighter and lighter until he could just begin to make out the shapes of his shoes, and he blinked experimentally. When his vision continued to clear Scorpius smiled and everything went dark again.

“Okay, okay,” he said to himself. _I can blink, which probably means I can move my eyes._

He lifted his head, choosing the spot directly in front of him, and held still again. As the darkness started to lift he looked everywhere he could without moving the rest of his body, scanning for any hint of red. Within two minutes the darkness was almost completely gone and he finally spotted a ribbon, almost ten feet ahead and to the left, tied around the branch of a large thorny-looking shrub. Doing his best to memorize exactly where the ribbon was and the features of the ground between himself and it, Scorpius stretched his left hand out in front of him. Just as he knew it would the light went out at once and he began walking forward slowly, trying to follow the direction of his outstretched arm. After what seemed like a lifetime he felt the scratchy ends of the shrub’s branches against his fingertips. Putting his wand in his pocket he reached out with his other hand and began to feel for the ribbon. A renewed series of screams rang out nearby; he thought he could hear cries of pain among them and he felt himself starting to sweat with anxiety. Unsure of how much time had already passed he held still again, forcing himself to be patient until he could see the ribbon, and this time he was close enough to make out the name written on it.

_Candy_

Scorpius laughed, mostly in disappointment, and then sighed heavily into the darkness.

“I really hope my ribbon’s not in here,” he muttered, “Because I’m all set with this one.”

Finding his way back to the courtyard entrance was much easier and he had to squint against the light once he stumbled out of the spell, even though the day was just as cloudy as it had been before. Desperate to get the test over with Scorpius crossed the path, pushed aside the curtain into the last courtyard, and went cold. His mother was standing in the center of the courtyard with Draco and Albus lying dead at her feet. 

Scorpius cried out before he could stop himself, a tight choking sound he barely recognized as his own, and he felt as though he was standing on the deck of a tilting ship. Albus’ eyes were glassy and half-closed, a line of dark blood trickling out of the corner of his mouth and down his jaw. His skin was already turning grey and the ground beneath him was becoming dark and wet as he bled out. Draco was crumpled like a broken marionette; his eyes had rolled back and the side of his head was crushed in. Scorpius didn’t realize that he was starting to fall until his back hit the wall of the courtyard and he felt as though he was about to start screaming.

Astoria’s long hair was loose, rolling in dark waves around her shoulders. Her cheeks were pink from the cold and she was wearing her heavy winter cloak, lined with fox fur. She smiled gently at him, a mixture of pride and sadness in her eyes, and there was blood spattered against her pale collarbone. The edge of her cloak rustled and Scorpius saw himself emerge from behind her, a perfect copy down to his clothes and shorn hair. He was holding his wand in a blood-stained hand and gave Scorpius a long, knowing look.

“You-you’re not real,” Scorpius said, his voice cracking, “You’re a boggart.”

Astoria tilted her head slightly, as though contemplating a riddle.

“We exist in your mind, _douce enfant_ ,” she said, and the sound of her voice almost made his legs give way, “Isn’t that real enough?”

“It’s subjective,” the boggart Scorpius added, a smile flickering in his grey eyes.

“Scorpius!”

Albus’ voice rang out nearby a moment before the curtain was pushed aside and he burst into the courtyard, looking excited with a red ribbon clenched in his hand. 

“There you are! Your ribbon’s in the one with the pixies.”

Scorpius seized him by the arm and pulled him close.

“Albus stay back, it’s a boggart.”

Clearly noticing the spectacle for the first time, the other boy turned his head and stared wide-eyed at the figures of Astoria, Scorpius, Draco, and his own corpse. Astoria was watching him with a secretive, ingratiating smile and Scorpius gripped his wand, his hand shaking as he pointed it at her. 

“ _Riddikulus!_ ”

Unfazed by the spell, his boggart copy continued to watch Scorpius, and Astoria smoothed her hands over the skirt of her blue velvet gown, lifting it slightly in order to step over Draco’s body, coming towards them. Albus gasped and Scorpius stood in front of him, pointing his wand again.

“ _RIDDIKULUS!_ ”

The boggart Astoria took another step towards them and Scorpius turned, pushing Albus ahead of him and out of the courtyard. The curtain fell back into place behind them and Scorpius turned on the spot with his wand. His heart was beating so hard it hurt and he wanted to run. A handful of students were darting between the other courtyards, calling out to each other about the obstacles and where their ribbons were. There was no sign of Dalca and Scorpius wondered if she’d put some kind of invisibility spell on herself. Beside him Albus winced and he realized how tightly he was gripping the other boy’s arm.

“Sorry-I’m sorry,” he said, letting go, “Are you okay?”

Albus nodded, managing a smile even though he still looked a little shaken.

“I’m fine. That was a scary boggart though, are you okay?”

Scorpius took a deep breath and lowered his wand, still half-expecting his mother to push aside the curtain at any moment.

“It wasn’t real; I’m okay.”

They went back to the middle courtyard full of flowers, which were full of pixies, and Scorpius dutifully fought them off to get his ribbon, barely paying attention to what he was doing.

_It wasn’t real. It wasn’t real._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My goodness this is a long chapter, and so much italicizing, oy vey. Obviously I'm trying to get a lot in here and I hope it was reasonably successful. It blows my mind sometimes how much these bits and pieces of the story change as I stitch them together, and I can't deny that I'm geeking out a little over this one :D But also *yawn* it's after midnight and I need to go to bed. As always, thank you for reading!


	15. A Little Piece of Candy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Candy returns to Middlesbrough for Christmas.  
> *Note: all _italicized_ dialogue is being spoken in Spanish.

“What was in the crates?”

Candy smiled.

“You haven’t heard?”

Professor Devereaux opened his mouth and closed it again with a kind of dignified professional restraint, clearly trying not to smile too broadly.

“Professor Dalca is…not an overly chatty person.”

Everyone laughed. It was Friday evening and Devereaux had invited the tutoring group to his Discussion classroom to celebrate the end of finals week. As usual he’d arranged the desks in a circle and the relief of being done with exams combined with sticky toffee pudding was making all of them excitable and giggly.

“It was awful,” Claudette said, “There were all these different jinxes and curses rigged up in the crates, so when you opened one to look for ribbons they came out at you.”

“What kinds?”

“Loads,” Nerys jumped in, “ _Inflatus_ , Jelly Legs, Knockback; Helga Ditmore had leeks coming out of her ears.”

Devereaux laughed and shook his head.

“Did everyone find their ribbons?”

“Our class did, eventually,” Claudette said.

“Us too,” Candy agreed, and Nerys raised her eyebrows.

“It was close though; Scorpius almost didn’t get his in time.”

There was a moment of silence at this and some of the other students exchanged sardonic looks, which had as much to do with Nerys’ obvious crush as they did with the rumors about Scorpius being Dark. Even Devereaux had returned his attention to his pudding bowl, pointedly ignoring the awkwardness they had stumbled into. Candy nodded to Nerys and quickly changed the subject. 

“How was everybody else’s exams?” She asked, looking around to the older and younger students.

“That was a good save,” Devereaux said later as the others were leaving, “earlier, about Scorpius.”

“Thanks.”

He was using cleaning spells on the bowls, stacking them together, and hesitated before going on.

“Is he doing okay, do you think?”

Candy considered this.

“I think he’s doing better.”

Devereaux nodded and smiled at her, looking thoughtful.

“How about you?”

It was a trickier question and she took a deep breath.

“I finished all of my late assignments,” she suppressed a somewhat dry laugh, “I didn’t run out on any of my exams.”

He grinned, chuckling, his sandy blonde hair falling into his eyes.

“That’s great Candy. I know you might not think so, but it is.”

Candy shifted uncomfortably.

“Thank you.”

“Hey, I mean it,” he said, bending down a little to meet her eyes, “You’re one of the hardest-working students I’ve ever had, and I can’t tell you how proud I am of everything you’re accomplishing.”

A lump was starting to rise in Candy’s throat and she swallowed hard against it, determined to not cry in front of him.

“Thank you, Professor.”

He held out his hand and she shook it.

“You’re welcome, and I hope you have an excellent break; you’ve earned it.”

 

Saturday morning was a blur of gift-giving and departure preparation. Breakfast was earlier than usual and even though they could’ve slept in Albus and Scorpius showed up to give Candy her Christmas presents and say goodbye.

“We thought about wearing our pajamas just because we can,” Albus said, grinning.

“But then we didn’t,” Scorpius added pointedly. Even though he was smiling Candy thought he looked tired, like he hadn’t slept well, and she wondered again what he had seen in the last courtyard. During the exam he had told her where her ribbon was before she’d had to face the boggart herself, and neither he nor Albus would say what forms it had taken for them. 

Nerys and Claudette rode on the train with her to Leeds, and Claudette’s parents were there to drive her to York again. This time she was unable to get out of letting them buy her lunch and they had sandwiches at a café near the station. Again they insisted on paying for her ticket to Middlesbrough and Candy felt her jaw tightening as she took the money. She hoped that they were just generous by nature, but couldn’t help wondering what Claudette had told them.

Middlesbrough was particularly gloomy in winter; trees were grey and the grandest buildings were rendered cold and uninviting by their stone and steel. Even the small bundled-up children at the train station looked world-weary, as though they were reporting for duty at the shipyards. Candy called her mother’s number from the battered station payphone, absentmindedly reading the graffiti that had been scratched into the Plexiglass booth while the phone rang in her ear. Amid a smattering of obscenities there were sets of paired names or initials, linked by small crosses and enclosed within jagged hearts. A harsh tone sounded and a cool female voice informed her that the number was no longer in service. Candy rolled her eyes and hung up, trying not to slam the handset as she did so. Hoping that Eréndira hadn’t had to move again, Candy took up the handle of her suitcase and began the chilly walk.

The blocks of flats along Costa Street were just as dreary as they had been during the summer, their dull blank windows giving simultaneous impressions of sleep and watchfulness. As she made to turn onto the road two boys and a girl emerged from the Sainsbury’s on the corner and spotted her.

“Oye!” The taller of the boys said, coming across the street towards her while the other two followed. 

Candy recognized him and paused, waiting. He was called Slip and made money helping the local handymen; she’d seen him clambering in and out of their pickup trucks all summer. Candy guessed he was fifteen, and the boy and girl with him looked about the same age, even though he was taller than all of them by at least two feet. Slip was wearing a white tank top underneath a faded black windbreaker and his hair had been buzzed down in a zig-zag pattern on each side of his head. He gave her an easy, not unfriendly smile.

“Hey Briar, back for hols?”

Candy smiled back and nodded. Slip put his hands in his pockets and addressed his companions.

“She goes to a fancy private school up north.”

The boy nodded, disinterested, but the girl gave Candy a sharp, evaluating look. Her frizzy, buttercup yellow hair was pulled into a messy half-bun at the top of her head and she was wearing mint green velour trackies with a matching zip-up hoodie, a butterfly picked out in tiny plastic gems over her heart.

“I know her,” she said, pulling Slip’s left arm over her shoulders, “We were in primary school together.”

Candy blinked, surprised and embarrassed that she couldn’t remember. The girl raised her eyebrows somewhat haughtily.

“Ellie. You were a year below me; we stood next to each other in choir.”

“Oh,” Candy said, remembering suddenly, “That’s right, Ellie. Hi.”

The other girl’s smile didn’t quite reach her eyes and Candy was grateful when the boy, who no one had bothered to introduce, elbowed Slip with a sidelong glance. Slip cleared his throat and looked between the three of them.

“In any case, welcome back. I saw your old man’s truck out front; tell him I’m free if he needs a hand down at the yard.”

Candy nodded, aware of Ellie watching her.

“Thanks, I will.”

They parted in opposite directions and as Candy continued down Costa Street she saw that her father’s truck was indeed parked in front of the flat, and that someone had written “90” on the front door in dark blue spray-paint. When she tried the door it was locked, and her knocks went unanswered. After a quick glance up and down the street she pulled her wand out of an inner coat pocket, trying to picture the locks on the other side of the door as she did the spell.

“ _Alohomora_ ,” she whispered, listening to each of them give way in turn.

As she had suspected, the kitchen and living room were empty. Her father’s winter jacket was hanging over the back of one of the chairs and the table was cluttered with mail and papers. Dirty dishes for two were in the sink but Candy couldn’t smell the food that had warranted them. The second floor hallway light was off, making the staircase in front of her an ascent into shadow. Candy moved to the first step, listening, and soon heard the muffled sounds coming from her mother’s bedroom, their persistence ebbing and flowing like the tide of an invisible ocean.

Candy clenched her wand in her fist as the spells she had learned that term chased each other through her head. She stood listening for a moment more, then quietly opened the front door again and pulled her suitcase back out onto the sidewalk. Once the door was closed she locked it from the outside and slid her wand deep into her suitcase before sitting down on the pink stoop and zipping her coat up to her chin. Joe’s truck was the dusty orange color of a dirty pumpkin, its bed full of grease-blackened tool boxes and random machinery, and Candy sat staring at it for a full minute before she turned to her book bag, desperate for a distraction. As she had done innumerable times over the last few months, Candy felt around blindly for one of the rubber banded stacks of flashcards and pulled it out. They were her Potions cards and she began to go through them numbly, barely registering the information.

_Adder’s Fork_   
_Frog brain_   
_Bone_   
_Ginger_

The sun was starting to set and Candy shivered a little, adjusting and resettling herself on the cold concrete stoop. Every now and then a car drove down the road and people walked past on the sidewalk, paying her little heed. Candy hoped that Slip wouldn’t come back and find her sitting there; the last thing she wanted was to talk to anyone. She thought of Albus and Scorpius together at Hogwarts with intense jealousy, but the thought of her mother alone on Christmas was more than she could stand.

_Jewelweed_   
_Cherry_   
_Pearl dust_   
_Hemlock_

Suddenly she heard movement on the other side of the door, heavy footfalls coming down the stairs, and Candy started, almost scattering her flashcards across the sidewalk as she hurriedly shoved them back into her book bag. She got to her feet as the door was being unlocked and smiled up at her father when he opened it. His hair was a shade darker than hers and he tended to keep it a little long on top, reminding Candy of the teenage gangsters in old American films. He looked as though he had just splashed water on his face; it was sparkling a little along his unshaven jaw and there were darkened wet spots along the neckline of his white t-shirt.

“Hey,” he proclaimed in happy surprise, “Look what the cat dragged in!”

Reaching past her he took the handle of her suitcase with one hand and rested the other on her back, guiding her into the house with him.

“Your mum said you’d be getting back soon; I hope you weren’t waiting out there long?”

Candy shook her head.

“I just got here actually.”

He held up his free hand briefly in a familiar gesture of self-congratulation (presumably for his timing in checking the stoop) before bending down to hug her. She could feel the lingering water droplets from his face and neck in her hair and he smelled good; sweet and clean and monumental somehow, like the earth itself.

“Where’s Mum?” Candy asked as they pulled apart.

“Just takin’ a shower; she’ll be down soon.”

Joe turned away and stepped into the kitchen, looking back at her over his shoulder as he did so.

“Want a cuppa? Take the chill off?”

“Sure, thank you.”

He moved around the kitchen with ease; filling the kettle, selecting mugs, pulling out the tea and sugar, two spoons. Candy watched him from the entryway, wondering how often her father visited while she was away at school. She could count the number of times they’d been alone together on her fingers, and now here he was, making tea in their kitchen as though he did it every day. The steady rushing sound of the shower could be heard above them. Joe was barefoot and Candy could see the outline of a tobacco tin in the back pocket of his worn blue jeans.

“You take milk in yours, right?” He asked.

“Just a little bit, and only with black tea.”

Her father paused and turned to smile at her, looking amused.

“Noted.”

The water in the kettle was beginning to boil and the silence between them deepened abruptly as the shower turned off upstairs. Joe moved to take the kettle off of the stove. 

“Dad,” Candy asked, “Where do you live?”

He didn’t look at her, but his voice was light and easy as he poured the steaming water.

“Down at the shipyard, worker housing, you know that.”

Candy was about to ask another question when the bathroom door opened and Eréndira appeared momentarily, wrapped in a towel and hurrying across the landing as though she hadn’t noticed Candy standing at the bottom of the stairs. Once the door of her mother’s bedroom had clicked shut Candy turned back to her father, who was in the process of making room at the table for them to sit.

“That’s right, I forgot,” Candy said, walking across the kitchen to the table. Joe ferried three mugs to the table and handed Candy’s to her with a wink.

“They need me close by in case something breaks in the middle of the night.”

Candy nodded as she sat down. Joe went on patiently, as though he was explaining it to her for the first time, his long-lashed hazel eyes clear and guileless. 

“And sometimes when they go out they need me to come along and live on the boat, in case something breaks at sea. Speaking of which,” he reached behind him into his coat pocket, “I brought you something.”

It was a piece of aquamarine sea glass, frosted by the water and hanging at the end of a piece of fishing line along with a small snail shell. Joe dangled it from his finger by a loop that had been tied at the other end of the line, watching her face expectantly. Candy felt something tug painfully in her chest and smiled as she took it from him, the cream-colored whorls of the shell creating a spiral movement as the fishing line twisted in space.

“Did you make this?” 

“Didn’t know your old man was an artist, did ya?”

Candy swallowed.

“It’s beautiful, Dad; thank you.”

He leaned in, kissing her forehead in a somewhat perfunctory way, and Candy did her best not to flinch away from his mouth. When he’d pulled back she carefully laid the trinket down on the table and they both took sips of their tea. He had made it perfectly. 

“Oh,” she said, remembering, “I saw Slip down at the corner; he said to tell you that he’s free if you need help at the shipyard.”

Joe nodded, his eyebrows giving a polite little hop.

“Thanks for the message; Slip’s a good kid.”

A door opened and closed upstairs and the two of them waited, awkward suddenly, as though they were strangers at a cocktail party waiting for their hostess. Eréndira came downstairs wearing loose plaid pajama bottoms and a long-sleeved navy blue shirt, beaming when she saw Candy, who stood up to hug her. Eréndira held her tight, as though trying to absorb warmth, lifting Candy off the floor a little to press her face into Candy’s hair.

“ _I won’t be able to do this much longer, love,_ ” she murmured, “ _You’re getting so big._ ” 

Her mother lowered Candy back to the ground and pulled away slightly to look at her. Up close Candy could see the weariness in her mother’s face, the faint lines around her eyes that Candy had never noticed before and a strand of white hair at her temple. _You’re not even thirty yet_ , Candy thought. 

“ _I made tea, ‘Dira, if you want_ ,” Joe said, half-turned in his chair and holding up Eréndira’s mug. Candy’s mother nodded and went to the table, taking the tea from him as he put his arm around her hips.

“ _Thank you_ ,” she said, leaning into him a little as she took a sip. Candy sat back down, watching them out of the corner of her eye. Her mother looked up at her.

“ _How was the train ride? I’m sorry I wasn’t there to pick you up._ ”

“ _It was fine, thanks_ ,” Candy paused, “ _I tried to call from the station but the machine said your phone was out of service._ ”

There was an uncomfortable moment of silence between the three of them. Something in Eréndira’s face seemed to close and she looked down into her mug, not saying anything. Joe, who had looked as though he wasn’t paying attention to their conversation, sighed and took his arm from around Candy’s mother, sitting back from the table slightly as he dug into another coat pocket. Eréndira remained where she was, eyes lowered, as he tossed three prepaid phone cards onto the table.

“Guess I know what I’m good for,” he muttered.

“ _Thank you, my love_ ,” Eréndira said quietly and he nodded, dismissing her with a lift of his fingers. Candy’s mother went to the other end of the small table and sat down, making no move to collect the cards as she took another sip of her tea. The silence continued for almost ten claustrophobic seconds before Joe lifted his chin and gave his thighs a definitive pat with both hands before getting to his feet. 

“ _Well_ ,” he said, putting on his jacket, “ _I’ll leave you ladies to it_.”

“ _Do you have to go?_ ” Candy’s mother asked, her tone imploring. He smiled and bent down to give her a quick kiss which she returned reflexively, blinking.

“ _Sad to say I do_ ,” he replied, stepping sideways to put a hand on the back of Candy’s head, smoothing her hair, “ _but maybe I’ll be able to swing by on Christmas, eh kid?_ ”

Candy nodded and smiled at him. He turned away from them and went to the entryway, where his work boots were waiting by the door. Silently, Candy’s mother got up as well and went to stand near him, holding her hands in front of her while she waited for him to put on his shoes. When he was done she spoke to him, her voice too quiet for Candy to hear, and he kissed her again before leaving. 

It always took some time for things to return to normal after Joe left, as though a train had been derailed. Eréndira moved around the kitchen absently for a few moments, running water into the sink and then stopping, picking up the kettle and then putting it back down, wiping at something on the counter with a dish rag, before she finally came back to the table. 

“ _Are you hungry? I was thinking I might start dinner._ ”

“ _Sure._ ”

Her mother smiled, brightening a little.

“ _Would you like to chop the vegetables while I cook the meat? You can tell me all about school._ ”

Candy smiled back at her.

“ _That sounds great, Mum._ ”

While Eréndira started to get things ready in the kitchen, Candy brought her suitcase upstairs and changed her clothes. She looked around her room for a moment, trying to decide what to do with the ornament Joe had made, before deciding to hang it from the lock on her window. It was almost dark outside, giving the piece of sea glass a smooth cool glow as it clicked gently against the window. Candy watched until it fell still. 

The idea of using magic against her father was frightening but not impossible. What she really didn’t have an answer for was what would come after. Joe was a Muggle; if Candy cursed him, or threatened him, surely the Ministry of Magic would find out. And what would happen to her mother? It was possible that Eréndira didn’t want Joe gone, and how would they survive without him? Candy put her hands over her face. _It’s not time yet._ Against her will she could feel tears building in her throat.

Once she’d collected herself she went back downstairs and helped her mother make dinner, and things started to feel normal again. They talked about the Scholar’s Trials, Muggle Studies, Candy’s friends and professors, her exams. Eréndira cooked chicken with rice and beans while Candy made the salad, and by the time they were done her mother was talking about Christmas decorations and where they could get a tree.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this story is taking me so long; I never wanted to slip into the pattern of only doing one chapter a month. Hopefully I'll be able to get it together and pick up the pace a bit. I love Candy chapters; it's a relief to be able to write something where I don't have to move quite as much plot, but it's challenging nonetheless. I hadn't planned for this chapter to end where it does and I'm going to have to rework my story line a little bit to make up for it, but after I wrote the line it just felt right as a stopping point.


	16. Deck the Hols with Hogwarts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Albus and Scorpius make the most of their holiday break at Hogwarts, complete with blanket fort, and Scorpius receives two very different letters.

On Saturday after everyone had left, not really knowing what to do with themselves, Albus and Scorpius returned to their empty dormitory with the vague idea of going back to bed. Neither of them was tired however, and Albus proposed that they build a blanket fort on the floor in front of the fireplace. Scorpius dimly remembered making a blanket fort with his mother once when he was little, but he was sure that it had been nothing as ambitious as what Albus then set about designing. Together they stripped their beds and hauled the heavy feather mattresses off of the frames, pushing them together on the floor with their blankets and pillows. Intermittently giggling at the absurdity of what they were doing, they then went to the empty common room and began collecting all of the wooden chairs. Combining latent architectural skills that surprised both of them, they arranged and stacked the chairs around the mattresses, securing them with sticking spells from their Charms textbooks. For the roof and walls of the fort they fastened four flat sheets edge to edge with the same sticking spells, which turned out to be the most difficult and time-consuming part of the project, and when it was done they levitated the massive sheet up and onto the chairs, crowing in victory when it settled perfectly. 

“You don’t suppose the house elves will take it down, do you?” Scorpius asked. They had flopped onto their mattresses in a state of satisfied fatigue, listening to the crackle of the fire as they stared up at their white sheet roof. Albus smiled.

“If they do we can always build it again.”

“Have you made a lot of these?”

The other boy nodded, his arms flung back over his head on the pillow.

“Whenever the whole family gets together at my grandparents’ house someone always ends up making a fort in one of the bedrooms, or a clubhouse tent out on the lawn. Then they’ll say there’s no girls allowed, or no boys allowed, or no little kids allowed, and rival forts get built and we all try to wreck each other’s forts, sending out spies and laying traps. It usually ends when one of the younger kids starts crying and complains to a grownup.”

Scorpius listened intently, trying to imagine what it would be like to have such a large family, to look around a room and see a dozen faces that he had seen his whole life. The sheer number of days and years spent living so closely with others, and the number of shifting and evolving relationships that would exist between them, was bewildering to him. It also served to highlight his and Albus’ present isolation, and his heart sank.

“I’m sorry you’re going to miss it,” he said. Albus looked over at him.

“I’m not though,” he indicated their surroundings with a smile, “There’s a fort, and you; I don’t need anything else.”

Scorpius blinked, momentarily lost in a strange combination of surprise, warmth, and a sudden deep misgiving which he couldn’t place. 

“But,” he faltered, “You’re going to miss them, right? I mean, that would make sense; they’re your family, and it’s Christmas.”

“I’m going to miss them, but I’ll be okay. It’s only two weeks after all, and spring will be here before we know it.”

Scorpius did his best to return Albus’ unconcerned smile and dropped the subject, thinking that perhaps his sense of guilt was making him imagine things.

 

The house elves didn’t take down the fort but they did tidy the beds that had been ransacked for materials, even going so far as to supply more sheets to take the place of the ones being used for the tent. Less than ten other students had stayed behind for break, and like Albus and Scorpius they came and went sporadically, wandering in and out of the Great Hall and often taking their food to eat elsewhere. Whatever magic governed the food seemed to have been calibrated to the castle’s population, only materializing on sections of the tables where people were sitting, and in commensurate quantities. The only other Slytherins were a seventh year boy and a fourth year girl who didn’t seem to know each other and kept to themselves, ignoring Albus and Scorpius completely. Bill Rowe and Hank had stayed behind, and by sheer coincidence Scorpius encountered them on the grounds with their hawks when he took Albus out hunting Sunday morning. The human Albus had wanted to come along and Rowe looked him over silently before nodding to Scorpius, as though to indicate that Albus had been granted probationary approval. The four of them walked the tree line together for a while before separating to follow their birds; Albus was fascinated by the process, and seemed to experience a kind of reflected pride when his avian namesake fought and killed a mountain hare.

It wasn’t until Monday that they discovered the library had been locked for break, and Scorpius experienced a brief moment of dread, anticipating the boredom which might descend on them during two weeks without access to it. Albus, undaunted, pointed out that they still had their own textbooks to read ahead in, plus whatever Trials they might be able to start working on. Instead of schoolwork, however, they went to find Hagrid and ended up helping him select and decorate a small pine tree for his hut. As Hagrid was leaving that night to go to the Weasleys’ house for Christmas day, he presented each of them with a red felt stocking full of biscuits and candy on which their names had been painstakingly written in white paint (“Yeh have ter promise yeh won’ open them until the mornin’”) along with a bag of popcorn and cranberries left over from the garland he’d made for his fireplace. 

When they returned to the dungeons Albus began foraging in the common room cabinets for a needle and thread while Scorpius went to their dormitory to hang the stockings. A package wrapped in brown paper was sitting on top of his trunk, addressed to him in his father’s handwriting. Swallowing hard, Scorpius sat down on the edge of his bed frame and opened it. Beneath the paper was a square cardboard box, and when he removed the lid he found a tissue paper bundle with an envelope resting on top of it. Scorpius opened the envelope and found an illustrated Christmas card that looked like an antique, stiff and yellowed around the edges. The front image was of a line of rabbits riding penny-farthing bicycles down a snowy lane under a rising crescent moon, and the caption read; _By “rabbit” transit ‘mid snow and icicles, we bring our Christmas wishes on bicycles._ Scorpius stared at the picture, somewhat mystified, until he imagined his father trying to find a Christmas card in the Manor. It was entirely possible that this had been all he could find. Scorpius opened the card.

 

_Dear Scorpius,_  


_Thank you for your letter. I hope you have a happy Christmas and New Year, and that your second term goes well. I’ve spent the last few weeks trying to decide what to give you and finally decided on these. I hope you like them._  


_Love, Dad_

 

The deep stab of pain in Scorpius’ heart was swiftly followed by indignation as he blinked away his tears to read the message again. _Nothing_ , he thought, _no apology, no defense, nothing about Mum’s interview, just…nothing._ Scorpius returned the card to its envelope and began to pull apart the bundle inside the box. Inside the tissue paper was a set of ash grey cashmere pajamas with silvery abalone buttons. They looked brand new and the label sewn beneath the collar of the shirt was in Italian. Scorpius wondered if Draco had actually had to leave the Manor in order to get them. Surprisingly, Albus managed to find a small sewing kit wedged at the back of a drawer in the common room with some spare candles, and after dinner they sat in the fort and he taught Scorpius how to thread the popcorn and cranberries together. 

“Are those new?” Albus asked, taking a bite of one of the mincemeat pies they’d brought back from the Great Hall. Scorpius paused in the act of pushing his needle through a piece of popcorn and looked down at the grey pajamas.

“Yah,” he said, “My dad sent them to me for Christmas.”

“They’re nice; they match your eyes,” Albus smiled, “What did you give him?”

Scorpius pulled the thread through the popcorn, avoiding the other boy’s gaze.

“A new quill and ink,” he lied, “I put them in his study with a note before we left for King’s Cross.”

Mercifully their conversation turned to other things, and after hanging the garland in a scalloped line along the mantel of the fireplace they finished the last of the pie and went to bed. With the soft bedding and white sheet filtering the firelight, the fort made Scorpius feel as though they were sleeping inside of a cloud during a perpetual amber sunset. Albus drifted off first, and Scorpius found himself watching the other boy sleep as he tried to find his own rest, unwillingly reminded of the night he’d dreamed about going to Hogsmeade. As sleep approached his thoughts began to drift together, breaking their bonds like melting ice cream. Black feathers were pushing through Albus’ skin as he lay bleeding in the ruined courtyard next to Draco, who was holding out a Christmas card, his eyes growing dim inside his crushed skull. 

Scorpius started and sat up so fast it made his head spin, his heart pounding as he closed his eyes against the memory. Albus shifted slightly under his covers but didn’t wake up, and Scorpius forced himself to breathe more steadily. The scar above his heart ached and he massaged it with the heel of his hand, trying not to think about the weight of the castle above them and the cold dark water on the other side of the walls. _It wasn’t real. It was a boggart._ The burning logs in the fireplace crackled in the silence. Once his breathing had slowed and he was able to stare into the darkest corner of the room without flinching, Scorpius scooted his pillow closer to Albus’ and lay back down, closing his eyes as he tried to guide his thoughts along safer roads. 

Christmas ended up being a quiet affair, but when it was over Scorpius found that he couldn’t recall a happier one. He and Albus gave each other their presents, cataloged the contents of their stockings from Hagrid inside the fort like squirrels arranging a winter cache, and then went down to the Great Hall, which had been modestly decorated with holly wreathes and long red, gold, and green silk runners down each of the House tables. There were a variety of winter fruit pies, hot cider, sausage, and fluffy scrambled eggs, and Professor Robins ended up sitting at the Slytherin table to eat with them. After breakfast they went to the secret wing, where Scorpius played a whole concert’s worth of music for a delighted Albus, and after lunch they went for a long walk around the castle. Silvery curtains of rain were moving between the mountains, the lake reflecting their stormy color, and every time a rush of cold wind pushed through the valley Albus leaned into Scorpius a little for warmth. Scorpius tried not to speculate too much on whether there was an animal waiting for him in the eastern forest. 

Everyone was in the Great Hall for dinner and, at the Headmistress’ insistence, sat together at the long staff table on the dais. Robins, Nejem, Dalca, and Gagnon had all stayed, and sitting casually at the same table with them was surreal and undeniably awkward for the first few minutes. Gagnon in particular seemed to regret his decision to be sociable and kept frowning at his wristwatch, but the mood brightened considerably once food appeared on the table. There was turkey, its skin crispy golden and rubbed down with herbs, savory roasted vegetables, buttery mashed potatoes, goat cheese, candied fruit, and gingerbread. Plum puddings were delivered to the table in flames and eaten with brandy butter and fresh milk. By the end of the meal everyone was red-cheeked and happily drowsy. Scorpius ended up pulling a cracker with the Gryffindor third-year who had spent most of the meal giving him the stink-eye, and everyone, including Bill and Hank, wore the yellow paper crowns from their crackers. Albus had received a box of Chocolate Cauldrons from one of his uncles and in their fort that night he and Scorpius ate them until they were pleasantly tipsy and sick to their stomachs, collapsing finally into a heavy, sugar-induced sleep. 

It came as a surprise to Scorpius how easily he and Albus settled into a routine over the next week. His concerns about being bored turned out to be wholly unfounded; along with training his hawk and reading ahead in their textbooks, he and Albus took school brooms to the Quidditch pitch and flew for hours. They stayed up late playing chess and Exploding Snap, carried out experimental cooking projects in their dormitory fireplace, and explored the castle. Scorpius started teaching Albus how to play the piano and was disappointed to discover that his friend seemed to have no natural musical ability whatsoever. However, the process of teaching was a rewarding challenge and Albus was a thoroughly undeterred pupil. The castle was so quiet and empty that it began to remind Scorpius of the Manor and he found himself feeling more comfortable within its walls than he ever had before. It was something that he couldn’t quite convey to Albus, who seemed a little discombobulated by the absence of other people, tagging along in Scorpius’ wake like a shadow and glancing around sometimes as though waiting for someone else to appear as they walked through the corridors.

Every morning they would lounge around in their fort for as long as they wanted, a coveted luxury. Sometimes Albus would read out loud to Scorpius, and sometimes he would simply hold his book up between them so that Scorpius could read along if he wanted to. With their heads bent towards each other on the pillows Scorpius could smell Albus’ hair; it was a sweet smell, like honey and almonds. The book that Albus was reading was actually a very long ancient poem, and Scorpius would close his eyes as the other boy read, letting the words swim in the air above him without really paying attention to them.

_“They crossed seven mountains before they came to the gate of the forest. Then Enkidu called out to Gilgamesh, ‘Do not go down into the forest; when I opened the gate my hand lost its strength.’ Gilgamesh answered him, ‘Dear friend, do not speak like a coward. Have we got the better of so many dangers and traveled so far, to turn back at last? You, who are tried in wars and battles, hold close to me now and you will feel no fear of death.’”_

In spite of everything that had happened during first term Scorpius realized that he was happy, profoundly so. It was as though he and Albus had stumbled into some kind of alternate dimension, a warm inner pocket of reality where they could simply exist together, without gossip and quarreling, without the anxiety of unanswered questions.

New Year's Eve, the following Monday, found them out in the grounds just after dawn. It was bitterly cold and thick fog lay over Hogwarts; occasionally Scorpius could hear the beat of Albus’ wings, but the hawk had more or less abandoned them early on, intent on its prey. As they made their way around the eastern side of the castle Scorpius couldn’t help but glance at the sylvan foothills.

“Do you think Albird is hunting somewhere in there?” Albus asked, following his gaze.

“Probably,” Scorpius said, scanning the deep columned shade of the forest. Suddenly, and as certainly as he had ever known anything, Scorpius knew that a messenger was waiting for him in the trees. He felt his breath hitch with excitement and then trepidation as Albus came to a halt beside him.

“What is it?” The other boy asked.

“I-,” Scorpius paused, considering his options and how long the animal might be willing to wait for him. Finally coming to a decision, he took Albus’ hand and looked him in the eye.

“Albus, I need you to wait here while I go into the woods for a couple of minutes.”

“Why?”

Scorpius opened his mouth, closed it, and then tried again, hoping he wasn’t blushing.

“I think I heard a wildcat just now; I need to find Albird and get him out of there.”

Albus’ eyes widened a little and he looked confused.

“I didn’t hear anything, are you sure?”

“Not really, but I don’t want to risk it. Jaime reckons there’s a handful of wildcats that come down from the mountains sometimes. Look,” he said, smiling in what he hoped was a reassuring way, “It’s probably nothing and I promise I won’t take very long. Will you wait here for me?”

The other boy stared at him for a moment, his eyes the color of summer, then nodded. Scorpius put a hand on his shoulder and squeezed it briefly before turning and walking into the trees. There was a dramatic shift in the sounds around him; the wider, open language of the grounds was absorbed, and the delicate cloistered language of the forest was exaggerated. Scorpius’ wand was in his pocket and he made sure that his hands were visible, that each of his footsteps sounded clearly as he made himself known. 

“Come on,” he whispered, his eyes raking the underbrush, and then he saw it.

A massive brown bear was hunched less than thirty feet ahead, silent and unmistakably watching him. Scorpius started back in fear, mouth dropping open, and his first impulse was to turn and run back the way he’d come. However, in the next moment he found himself struck by the impossibility of the situation. He’d seen a bear once before, at the London zoo with his parents when he was five, and vividly remembered his father explaining that wild bears had vanished from the UK a long time ago. 

_You’re the messenger,_ he thought, and shivered in awe. As if sensing his thought the bear lifted its head and gave a kind of low, guttural _huff_. Feeling simultaneously terrified and exhilarated, Scorpius began walking towards it. Time felt airless and suspended, as though this place, this moment, was contained in a snow globe. The closer he came to the great silent creature the louder his heartbeat sounded in his ears and the harder it was to breathe. The bear at the zoo hadn’t seemed as big as this one, and Scorpius was intensely aware of its powerful body as he approached.

Standing down on all four legs the bear was still two feet taller than Scorpius. Its fur was thick and soft-looking, the color lighter along its snout, with two black eyes set deep in its round face. It held perfectly still and Scorpius could hear it breathing, a large inhuman sound, like wind filling the sails of a ship. Scorpius could see a line around the animal’s neck, a deep narrow gap in its fur where he imagined the loop of the drawstring pouch must be. They were two feet apart and Scorpius swallowed with difficulty, his mouth dry, and managed to smile, holding both of his hands palm-up at his sides to show he had no weapon. The bear considered him for a moment, and then without warning opened its mouth in a wide stretching yawn. Scorpius jumped back involuntarily, nearly wetting himself at the number and size of sharp teeth on display. After it was done yawning the bear lifted its great head, at such an angle that it could continue to watch Scorpius even as it revealed the small leather pouch hanging at the base of its throat. His hands trembling, Scorpius stepped closer and reached for the pouch. He could feel the heat of the bear’s body against his fingers as he worked the pouch open, every movement punctuated by thoughts of his throat being ripped out. Once the small scroll of parchment had been retrieved Scorpius moved away from the bear as quickly as he dared without turning his back on it.

“Thank you,” he murmured, holding up the scroll and giving a little bow. Without ceremony the bear turned and began walking away from Scorpius, moving as slowly and deliberately as a war machine, the underbrush flattened in its wake. Scorpius waited until he lost sight of the animal before tucking the scroll into his trouser pocket and turning back to the castle. By the time he emerged from the forest the morning fog had all but melted away and the sun was a dull white coin behind layers of cloud. Albus was standing exactly where Scorpius had left him, and Scorpius was surprised to see his hawk perched on Albus’ shoulder. His friend’s face broke into a wide relieved grin. 

“There you are; Albird came to me two minutes after you went in. Was there a wildcat?”

Scorpius blinked, belatedly remembering the pretense he’d invented.

“Yah, a big one. I did some spells to scare it off and put up a ward to keep it away. I don’t know how well it’ll hold,” he added, feeling that he should be humble in the telling of this imaginary feat, “I’ve never really tried a ward like that before.”

His hawk took off from Albus’ shoulder and flew a few feet away from them with its claws open, mantling itself over something that twisted and squeaked in the grass. Now that he was unencumbered Albus hugged Scorpius, holding him tight.

“I’m so glad you’re okay. I was worried about you.”

 

The rest of the morning passed slowly for Scorpius, his anxiety and impatience like a sustained note on a fraying violin. Now that he needed privacy in which to read his mother’s letter he was overly aware of Albus’ almost constant presence. Unwilling to lie to his friend again, Scorpius finally took advantage of a trip to the lavatory, opening his mother’s letter in one of the empty stalls. It began as all of them did, with a list of well wishes for his health, safety, education, and happiness, followed by apologies for Astoria’s secrecy and for the one-sided nature of their correspondence. The scroll was not dated and made no mention of Christmas, instead proceeding to what Scorpius knew to be the meat of the letter, and he settled in to read the new information carefully.

 

_The truth is not easy, Scorpius. Worthy things rarely are. As much as my heart aches to place this burden upon you, I’ve made a promise to tell you the truth._

_We cannot apportion our magic forever. Every cut weakens the body, and despised flesh cannot sustain itself. There are magical scholars and scientists all over the world conducting studies which will never see the light of day, because they have discovered a truth that no one wants to see. Magic is fading, Scorpius. Some have posited that we may have as little as one thousand more years before it disappears from the world entirely. In our quest for perfect control we neglected to heed the warnings, but our greatest fear is quantifiable now._

_Magical governments do not want this known. They suppress the evidence, create scapegoats, and their constituents are more than content to not ask questions. How many, for example, have accepted the lie that interability breeding weakens magic? Another difficult truth is that most of these people are not malicious or evil in their ignorance. Your father is not my enemy, Scorpius; I need you to believe that. I understand his fear and unwillingness to listen, even as I grieve the breaking of our family with all my heart. Worthy things are rarely easy, and this is so much bigger than you and me, than all of us._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As much as I struggled with this chapter I'm quite pleased with it now. I've been working on it since the end of August and I honestly didn't realize just how apt my chosen Gilgamesh quote was until, like, four hours ago when I super-geeked out over it (Enkidu doesn't want Gilgamesh to go into the forest, and then ALBUS DOESN'T WANT SCORPIUS TO GO INTO THE FOREST!) Also had waaaaaaay too much fun describing all the food and I'm really hungry now.
> 
> And I have no idea how the bear got to Hogwarts, but I'm refusing to logic that scene because poetry.


	17. Students and Teachers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Professor Dalca goes over some of her findings from Halloween, and Scorpius looks for a Muggle perspective on magic.

Nejem’s knock on the heavy oak door was met with a swift “Who’s there?” from within the room.

“It’s me, Haris.”

A pause.

“Come in.”

He pushed open the door to find Amalia sitting at a rough-hewn wooden table in the small antechamber which served as her living room. Her hair was loose, hanging in rosy waves halfway down her back, and she was wearing a red dressing gown embroidered with flowers and birds. Stoppered glass bottles had been labeled and arranged in a neat row across the table, all of them filled with what appeared to be the same black, carbonous substance. A length of parchment was weighted to the table in front of her and she seemed to be transcribing notes from a military field notebook. She didn’t look up as he came in.

“What do you want?” 

Nejem smiled to himself; he was learning that what seemed harsh in Amalia was often a product of distraction and forthrightness.

“I haven’t seen you in the Great Hall for a couple of days,” he said, “and since the kids come back tomorrow I just wanted to make sure you were still alive up here.” 

“I am, thank you.”

Unlike the other Hogwarts teachers Dalca lived in the castle year-round, as much for protection as for convenience, and her rooms clearly contained everything she owned. There was a handmade patchwork quilt on her bed, a framed antique map of _Țara Românească_ on the wall above her fireplace, a pair of large tattered shoes which he suspected had belonged to a male relative, and a small collection of books too precious for her classroom. The desk beneath the living room window was where she painted eggs using beeswax and dyes that she made by hand. A large wooden bowl at the foot of her bed was slowly filling with the finished products, which were exquisite, covered in dense ancient designs. The first time she had allowed him to visit her rooms Nejem had inquired as to the significance of the eggs and she had replied, bewilderingly, “They are like countries.” 

She continued to write and Nejem brought the tray of food he was carrying over to the table, placing it carefully on one of the empty chairs before sitting down opposite her. His proximity finally made her look up and her intense concentration softened a little as she took in the contents of the tray. The heavier English foods served at Hogwarts didn’t sit well with her so he’d brought fruit, coffee, bread, and butter. 

“Thank you,” she said again, putting down her quill. When she pressed her hands to her face her fingertips left smudges along her forehead which matched the shadows beneath her eyes.

“What’s all this?” He asked, indicating the table. Amalia sighed, fastidiously spreading butter over a slice of bread.

“Remains from the Halloween bonfire. Professor Merithwaite and Professor Longbottom have been helping me to analyze the ash and I’m preparing my final report for the Headmistress.”

Nejem glanced at the parchment, his curiosity piqued.

“What did you find?”

Amalia eyed him for a moment, her expression enigmatic, before turning to the row of bottles.

“Not much, I’m afraid. Fire is very good at destroying evidence,” he could hear a bitter edge in her voice, “Most of the report is theoretical.”

“How so?”

Her blue-grey eyes scanned the labels for a moment before she selected one of the bottles, holding it up between them.

“This was one of the more significant samples collected. It seemed to have a different organic composition from the others. Professor Longbottom said that there was unusual concentration of what may have been lavender, chamomile, and ginger.”

 _Sounds like someone tossed out a bad cup of tea,_ Nejem thought, but then something else occurred to him.

“Primitive Herbology?”

She nodded, her academic enthusiasm becoming more pronounced in spite of obvious fatigue.

“That was our hypothesis; certain ancient texts say that lavender, chamomile, and ginger were thought to increase psychic intuition, almost to the point of Legilimency.” 

In spite of himself, Nejem found that he was disquieted by this information. He realized that even with all of the speculation floating around the castle, the possibility of a deliberate, malicious attack hadn’t truly been real to him. A significant amount of spell ingredients would have to have been added to the fire in order to be detectable, and their specificity made coincidence unlikely. He considered his words carefully before speaking.

“Do you think that any of it might point to Malfoy? There are a lot of rumors going around, about what he may or may not have done that night.”

He could sense something in Amalia pull back, just a little. It was in the way her expression cooled as she averted her eyes from him, returning the bottle to its place with the others.

“My father started training me for espionage when I was eight,” she said, “I know what the rumors are.”

“For what it’s worth I don’t believe them,” he said gently, “People are too eager to believe the sensational and sordid; he’s just a kid.”

Dalca sat up a little straighter, facing him with a complex mixture of mordant cynicism and sadness.

“People can also be too eager to believe that children are beyond the influence of the sordid.”

“Amalia-”

She closed her eyes and shook her head, looking paler than usual in the morning light, and began pulling her hair up into a messy bun, the movements so deft they seemed unconscious. 

“I’m sorry,” she said, then opened her eyes and looked at him questioningly.

“I thought you were going back to Karnataka this week.”

He shook his head, relinquishing his unanswered question.

“My mum says it’s not safe right now. Too many raids and detentions.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” she said, her tone grave.

“Thank you.”

“Is your family protected?”

“They should be,” he said, not wanting to think too much about it. Certain religious sects in India had been obsessed with the idea of heretical magic users for as long as he could remember, but it wasn’t until recently that they seemed to have caught their scent with, unfortunately, the backing of local law enforcement. 

“I have extraction contacts if you need them; they’ve gotten many people out of Chechnya.”

“Thank you,” he said again, and meant it, “I pray it won’t come to that.”

They sat together in silence for a few seconds, and Nejem could practically feel Amalia’s desire to resume her work. Their eyes met and the understanding passed between them. He smiled. 

“Will I see you at dinner?” 

“I imagine so,” she said, turning back to her notebook with a small smile of her own. 

 

It didn’t seem possible that break was almost over. The last five days had spiraled out from beneath Scorpius like ribbon from a spool and he’d barely noticed. Everything he and Albus had done had felt like a footnote, distracting background music during an important conversation. He didn’t know what to do with the information that his mother had given him. If what she was saying was true, if magic was actually dying, it seemed impossible that anything could keep such a revelation hidden, or that anyone would want to.

_Our magic can save the world. The fact that poverty, starvation, and disease exist when magic-users are able to multiply food and close wounds is an unspeakable tragedy, as is the damage being done to the Earth._

It also seemed impossible that he had never heard anyone else say these things, especially after almost two years at one of the top wizarding schools in the world; surrounded by professors who were doing everything they could to funnel knowledge into his brain. It was like telling someone everything there was to know about elephants except what they looked like. He thought of charity advertisements he had seen in the city, victims of every disaster imaginable pleading for help from the sides of buses and the backs of magazines and billboards ten feet high, while magic users walked past.

_There are those who try, brave witches and wizards all over the world who are trying to make things better, but their devotion and self-sacrifice are like umbrellas in the face of a hurricane. There’s only so much they can do under the constant threat of discovery and punishment._

Was that what his mother was doing now? Trying to help Muggles without being accused of threatening magical security? Was that why he couldn’t write to her? If magic was dying, what was the solution? Going through her other letters she seemed to be saying that full magic would only be restored when witches and wizards embraced ideas and practices currently considered Dark, but wasn’t that a bad thing? Wasn’t that why Draco had been so scared when Astoria told him the truth? Scorpius thought again of the spell he’d done to save Albus in Hogsmeade. Was that the kind of “Dark” magic his mother was talking about? Wasn’t it possible that magical governments could have been over-eager when they outlawed certain kinds of magic? The rules had been put in place centuries before; it didn’t seem unreasonable that they could be reevaluated, especially if magic itself was at stake.

_If we were allowed to live openly with Muggles, to collaborate and share and learn from each other, the renewal we could bring to the world is incalculable._

If Draco wasn’t Astoria’s enemy, why had she attacked him in the _Prophet_? What had his parents said to each other during that long night after Scorpius fled to his rooms? Had Astoria told Draco what she’d been telling Scorpius? Why hadn’t his father been convinced?

_Imagine it Scorpius, if we could rebuild glaciers? If full, undiluted magic could be lent to every humanitarian and environmental effort? It would be worth everything._

“Biscuit?”

Scorpius blinked and looked down at the plate of cinnamon sugar biscuits that Albus holding out to him. It was Saturday and they were having lunch in the Great Hall. Scorpius shook his head and Albus put the plate back down on the table. They were the only ones in the vast empty room and the gentle impact of plate on wood practically echoed around them. For the first time in weeks the sun was shining and the diffuse golden glow of it made the stone walls of the castle seem darker. Illuminated particles of dust hovered in the air as though they were suspended in amber, and Scorpius could feel it coming closer, the moment when he would have to tell someone what was happening.

 _I want to tell you,_ he thought, watching Albus dunk one of the biscuits into his milk. _I swear I do._

One of the hall’s massive oak doors groaned open, startling Scorpius out of his reverie, and Professor Robins came in, heading towards their table. Scorpius guessed that she’d been tending to her plants; she was wearing a t-shirt and jeans with a blue bandana tied around her head which didn’t quite hold back her springy dark curls.

“Good afternoon lads; I thought I might find you here.”

“Good afternoon,” Albus replied.

“Are you looking forward to having everyone back tomorrow?”

Albus glanced at Scorpius, who shook his head before he could stop himself. 

“Not really,” Albus said, and Robins rolled her eyes, looking amused and slightly exasperated. Putting one hand on her hip in a businesslike way, she turned her attention to Scorpius.

“I was looking for you because I have some free time this afternoon if you wanted to come up for a lesson.”

A spark of panic caught in Scorpius’ throat, but before he had time to formulate a response Albus chimed in helpfully.

“We were going to go see Malcolm and Maxine this afternoon.”

Robins held up her hands good-naturedly. 

“Not a problem, maybe the Saturday after next then?”

Scorpius nodded and hoped that his smile was convincing. After Robins had left Albus turned to him, looking uncertain.

“Was it okay that I said that?”

“Yah, yah,” Scorpius said at once, “I’d forgotten that we were going to Muggle Studies, thank you.”

Albus beamed. 

They hadn’t arranged the meeting ahead of time and Scorpius was relieved to find that both of the Ashers were in the Muggle Studies classroom, having just returned to the castle the night before. Ostensibly Albus and Scorpius’ purpose in coming was to collect credit for the Trials they’d completed over break and to fish for information on what was going to be covered during second term. Maxine was closest to the door, sitting at her desk, and greeted them warmly, which prompted Malcolm to call out his own welcome from the other side of the massive room. Scorpius waved at them and then lowered his voice a little to Albus.

“Do you want to take Maxine, and I’ll take Malcolm?”

“Sounds good,” Albus said, his Trials guide already in hand, and they separated.

Malcolm was sitting at one of the tables in the workshop, hunched over a disassembled microwave with a screwdriver and looking thoroughly in his element. As Scorpius approached he looked up with his wide, easy smile.

“Malfoy, long time no see, what’s happenin’?”

Scorpius smiled back, wondering if he was going to lose his nerve.

“Not much; it’s been a good break.”

“Glad to hear it. You and Potter stayed, right?”

Scorpius nodded and Malcolm lifted his eyebrows in a knowing way.

“Let me guess; with all your wild parties down there in the dungeons you broke something and need help fixing it before everyone comes back.”

In spite of his anxiety Scorpius laughed at this.

“No, we didn’t break anything.”

Malcolm shook his head.

“Too bad. I was gonna charge you for repairs.”

“Professor,” Scorpius began, startling himself, “I actually was wondering if, if I could talk to you about something.”

The twisting motion of Malcolm’s screwdriver paused and he narrowed his eyes slightly.

“A fun something or a serious something?”

Scorpius swallowed, aware of Albus and Maxine chatting on the other side of the room.

“Kind of…a serious something, I guess.”

Malcolm gestured for Scorpius to sit on the empty stool across the table from him and Scorpius was deeply grateful for the other man’s calm ease as he did so. Talking to Malcolm was already infinitely easier than talking to Dalca.

“It’s also…kind of personal.”

Malcolm nodded, unfazed.

“Sure man, lay it on me.”

Scorpius twisted his fingers nervously for a moment before proceeding.

“What was life like for you and your family before you found out about magic?”

“My dad was in the army,” Malcolm began, seemingly unsurprised by the question, “When you’re in a Muggle army they sometimes need you to be stationed in different bases around the world for stretches of time, so we never really had a house of our own; we lived in houses that the army provided for soldiers and their families. Every year or so we’d move to a new base,” he lifted his eyebrows, “Max and I got good at making friends fast.”

Scorpius nodded, trying to imagine this without slipping into Malcolm’s mind.

“How did you and your parents react, when you found out Professor Maxine was a witch?”

Malcolm grinned.

“Well I always knew.”

Scorpius blinked in surprise.

“Really?”

“It was our secret when we were little. Our mom used to read us fairy tales and that’s how we thought about it. Whenever she made something happen by accident I would help cover for her, and our parents didn’t know anything about it until they got a letter from the Ministry of Magic.”

“Not a letter from Hogwarts?”

He shook his head.

“We’d just turned nine; our dad was stationed in Egypt. The Ministry had to send a special envoy, to get onto the base, and she explained the situation to us.”

“What did your parents think about all of it?”

Malcolm sat forward with his arms crossed on the table, looking thoughtful. 

“Our mom was okay with it pretty quick. Looking back I think maybe she acted happier than she felt sometimes, because she didn’t want me and Max to be afraid of the magic.”

“And your dad?” Scorpius asked tentatively.

Malcolm nodded, his brows coming together a little. His dreadlocks were held back from his shoulders by a rubber band and his fingernails were grimy from work. When he spoke, his voice had an odd mixture of accents that slipped in and out of each other unexpectedly, from American to English to others that Scorpius couldn’t identify.

“My dad was a soldier; adjusting to the unexpected was what he did best, and he loved Max, so that part was easy. He never really talked about it, but I know that finding out about the magical world shook him, inside,” he paused, his eyes far away, “Everything was weapons with him, it had to be, doing what he did. He lived with fear every day, but I think finding out about magic…that was a new fear for him. The fear of what would happen if it was all exposed.”

A heavy silence fell between them and Scorpius shifted uncomfortably on his seat, knowing that if he didn’t ask the question now he never would.

“Do you ever think that we’re…selfish? To keep magic a secret?”

Malcolm looked up, almost as though he’d forgotten Scorpius was there, and studied him quietly for a long moment, his eyes as black as ink. 

“I didn’t at first. I respected the rules cuz I knew it was about keeping Max safe, but then…then I found out how much longer witches and wizards tend to live,” he shook his head, absentmindedly thumbing the beads on one of his bracelets, “All the things you can protect yourselves from…Muggles don’t stand a chance in comparison. Not gonna lie, I was angry about that. I still get angry about that,” his eyes met Scorpius’ and his expression softened a little, “But then I remind myself that that’s why I’m here; to help you lot understand how Muggles live, to respect us and see us as equals, so that maybe someday if you get the opportunity you’ll help us out, or at least speak up.”

Scorpius felt his heart sink with guilt.

“Shouldn’t we do more than that, though?”

“Like what?”

Scorpius faltered. The ideas his mother had been sharing with him were so present in his mind that he’d already opened his mouth before he remembered that it might not be safe to speak them aloud.

“I don’t know,” he said, “like expanding the secrecy rules…or something.”

The Muggle stared at him, his gaze sharp suddenly, and Scorpius understood that Malcolm had been talking to him as an adult, but now remembered that Scorpius was a child.

“My dad used to say that people have all the power in the world to be kind to each other,” Malcolm said carefully, “but they have just as much power to be cruel, and we have to live in the balance between the two.”

“But why does it have to balance? Shouldn’t we just be kind?”

Malcolm turned his face to the side and put one hand on the back of his neck as though it was sore, looking more solemn than Scorpius had ever seen him.

“Let me ask you this,” he said, “When a doctor finds out that her patient is dying, what’s the kind thing to do? Telling that patient the truth is going to cause a lot of pain, it’s going to break the hearts of a whole family, a whole community of people, but the doctor’s gonna do it anyway cuz it’s the right thing to do,” he paused, “What I’m tryin’ to say is that sometimes there aren’t any good options. Someone’s gonna get hurt either way. The balance is making sure you cause as little pain as possible, and that if you have to hurt someone, you’re doing it for the right reasons.”

Scorpius didn’t know what to say. It felt as though a large heavy hand was slowly pressing down on him and he had to remind himself to breathe. After a moment Malcolm smiled and leaned across the table, nudging Scorpius’ hand with his knuckles.

“Sorry that got a little heavy there. You okay?”

“I’m fine.”

“Was there anything else you wanted to talk about?”

Scorpius shook his head and stood up.

“I-no, not right now anyway. Thank you, very much, for talking to me.”

Malcolm nodded, his smile tinged with concern.

“You’re welcome man, anytime.”

Scorpius did his best to smile back before turning away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm relieved to report that I'm finally starting to hammer this one out, plot-wise. I can finally ( _finally_ ) see the shape of it, and I hope that what I have so far is working/continues to work. It would be amazing if I could wrap this one up before November (NaNoWriMo) but we'll see; I really don't want to sacrifice quality for speed (more than I have already that is...)


	18. Mala Fide

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The students return to Hogwarts for second term and Hagrid throws Candy a birthday party.

The Hogwarts Express could finally be seen approaching the station and Candy got to her feet, shivering as her limbs unclenched and were exposed anew to the wet January cold. The magical platform at Leeds only had a handful of benches to begin with and all of them had been claimed when Candy got off her train from York. She’d been sitting on her suitcase, burrowed into her school robes, for the better part of an hour and was hoping that she would be able to sleep the rest of the way to Hogwarts. She had woken up at four-thirty because her mother wanted to say goodbye before she left for work, but once Eréndira had left Candy hadn’t been able to fall back asleep. The sky outside her bedroom window had steadily brightened while Candy listened to her little purple radio and stared at the sea glass ornament. Joe hadn’t reappeared since the day she got home, but an envelope of cash had been pushed through their mail slot on Christmas Eve which Candy’s mother attributed to him. Eventually restlessness had pulled Candy from bed and she’d gone downstairs to make coffee.

Claudette and her parents appeared on the platform just as the train was easing to a stop, great billows of steam briefly engulfing them before Claudette spotted Candy and came to greet her; all honeyed curls and rosy cheeks in a new wool coat the color of holly berries. Once they’d boarded the train Claudette went to find Nerys and Candy volunteered to find an empty compartment for them. Shouldering her book bag down one of the narrow hallways, Candy was trying to resist a warm swell of fatigue when her foot caught suddenly just as one of the compartment doors was opening. She tumbled forward onto her knees with a shriek and a strong hand caught her arm, preventing her from smashing face-first onto the dirty carpet of the hallway.

“Woah, are you okay?” Cai Blevins asked, crouching beside her.

Candy nodded automatically, even though she felt a powerful desire to cry and yell at the same time. The carpet was rough against her smarting knees and a pack of flashcards had fallen out of her book bag and burst around them like too-big confetti.

“Here,” Cai said, letting go of her and starting to pick up the flashcards. Candy rushed to help, her cheeks burning with annoyance and embarrassment. 

“Thanks,” she mumbled.

“No problem,” he said, glancing at one of the cards, “Etymology?”

Candy nodded and he smiled, dimples appearing in his cheeks as he did so.

“I took that too, second and third year, how are you liking it?”

“It’s fine,” Candy said, taking the last of the cards from him and wrapping the rubber band around them, “Professor Gagnon’s really nice and I’m learning a lot.”

He stood up with her as she got to her feet, so that when he spoke she had to look up at him.

“It gets harder second term. If you ever want help studying let me know.”

“Thanks,” Candy said, aware of his size suddenly in the narrow space as his friendly cinnamon-colored eyes watched her, “And thanks for helping pick up my cards.”

“Anytime,” he said, beginning to step away from her, “See you around, Briar.”

“See you around,” she echoed, and he looked back at her over his shoulder with another quick smile as he continued on down the train car.

 

Scorpius intentionally made himself scarce Sunday evening, relieved that Albus had been persuaded to stay behind in the castle while Scorpius walked the grounds with his hawk. He was standing at the crest of a hill near the shore of the lake when he heard the whistle of the Hogwarts Express pulling into the Hogsmeade station. The sun was setting and beyond the Forbidden Forest he could just make out a line of white steam from the train rising into the apricot-colored light. A sense of resignation settled over him and he could already feel the other students’ eyes on him like mosquitoes crawling over his skin, looking for the best spot to draw blood. 

Eager to avoid the procession of carriages along the castle road he remained in the owlery after Albus had returned to his nest, comforted by the soft rustling and uncomplicated voices of birds as he sat on the cleanest patch of stone he could find. It was almost dark by the time he left, finally shooed away by the assistant groundskeeper Jonas, who was helping train attendants return student birds to the owlery. Inside, Hogwarts was loud and bustling again as students flowed through the halls like fleshy tributaries, calling loudly to each other as they went to their dorms or to the Great Hall for dinner. Scorpius put his head down as he walked close to the walls, intent on getting to the dungeons as quickly as possible. 

“Hey Malfoy, wait up!” 

Scorpius recognized Marcus’ voice and stopped, tensing reflexively as he turned around. The other boy was coming towards him, his eyes sparking like blue flint, and Scorpius pulled his wand out of his pocket, careful to keep it hidden.

“What is it?” he asked, acting as though he hadn’t noticed Marcus’ aggressive manner. The other boy was close, edging into Scorpius’ personal space.

“I just wanted to know what your problem is; Potter says he can’t help me with my Trials books anymore because _you_ said it was cheating.” 

Scorpius almost lost his grip on his wand, surprise and confusion making him feel as though he’d been knocked in the head.

“He…what-?”

“I just thought that was pretty rich coming from you,” Marcus said, cutting across him, “considering how you two scammed for points all last year, but whatever, I see how it is. You’re just a prick, so thanks for that.” 

He stepped back and gave Scorpius a deep sarcastic bow before walking away, his hands clenched into fists. Scorpius was rooted to the spot, temporarily oblivious to the stares and whispers of passersby as something very cold spread through him like ice in his marrow. Albus had said that he’d been joking about helping Marcus cheat. Scorpius could still see him sitting in the common room window, smiling his lopsided smile in the hazy underwater light as he said it. Had he lied because he didn’t want Scorpius to be upset with him? The idea that Albus had actually agreed to help Marcus cheat was baffling and completely at odds with everything Scorpius knew about him.

When he reached the Slytherin common room Albus and Candy were sitting at their favorite table by the fire with dinner for three laid out on napkins and an empty chair that Scorpius knew at once was meant for him. His two best friends looked up as he came through the door, their faces brightening in welcome, and Candy waved. The sight was so sweetly familiar that for a heartbeat it almost felt like a cruel joke, crafted by the same unseen hand that had sent Marcus to him in the entrance hall. Scorpius returned their smiles somehow as he crossed the room to the table, and pulled out the empty chair to sit between them. 

“What’s all this?” he asked.

“We knew you wouldn’t want to eat dinner in the Great Hall,” Candy said.

“So we brought dinner to you,” Albus finished, and Scorpius studied the other boy. His expression was bright and open, with no hint of the uncomfortable conversation he must have had with Marcus.

“Scorpius?”

Candy’s voice brought him back to himself and he was aware that his gaze had lingered too long. For his part Albus didn’t seem to have noticed anything unusual and blinked at Candy in polite confusion.

“Sorry, I guess I’m more tired than I thought,” Scorpius said, sitting down and turning his attention to the food. They’d brought mutton pasties, branches of grapes, and a stoppered glass potion bottle full of pumpkin juice. Scorpius did everything he could to appear normal as he ate. 

Classes resumed and pulled everyone back into orbit, the rhythms of school demanding and inevitable as gravity. Albus didn’t mention Marcus and Scorpius was more than willing to let the matter go, especially since Marcus didn’t seem interested in escalating his quarrel with them, opting instead for resentful avoidance with Bernard predictably following suit. They received their grades from first term and Candy was transported by happiness to learn that she was passing every subject. Scorpius was relieved to be maintaining above average performance, even with the assignments he’d turned in late and his failure to defeat Dalca’s boggart. Albus’ grades were excellent and Scorpius was reassured by this. _Nothing out of the ordinary there,_ he thought.

January passed in storms of icy rain that battered the castle windows and churned the surface of the lake. There were no letters from Astoria and Scorpius felt their absence like the second-to-last note of a song; the unresolved anticipation of an ending. He still carried her letters in the pocket closest to his heart, the parchment rolled as tightly as possible so they would all fit. Without him realizing it they had almost become totemic, helping to ground his thoughts whenever doubt and anxiety began to creep in. Knowing they were there made it easier to live with his secrets, and helped to distract him from thinking too much about Albus. Another letter would come. 

_And really,_ he told himself, in moments of reflection when he bent over the piano keys or adjusted the lenses of a telescope, _Albus seems fine_. A little overly cheery perhaps, but that wasn’t unusual, nor was his attentiveness and concern. As for the cheating, Scorpius reasoned that everyone made mistakes, and Albus did have a competitive streak. The important thing was that he’d changed his mind and turned Marcus away. 

The Saturday after Candy’s 13th birthday Hagrid insisted on throwing a party for her at his hut. The weather was truculent, unseasonably humid with clouds so heavy and dark that the entire day had passed in an odd, feverish twilight, like the shuttered room of an invalid. Hagrid had clearly been working against the gloom in preparation for their arrival; the inside of the hut was as clean as Scorpius had ever seen it, homey with the smells of cooking food and a fire in the fireplace. The table was already set for them and for a centerpiece he’d put together a bouquet of dead and half-dead plants which were tied together with a yellow ribbon.

“Happy Birthday!” Hagrid bellowed when they arrived, bestowing bone-crushing hugs all around as though it was everyone’s birthday. “Make yerselves at home. We’re just waitin’ on the others, but I reckon they’ll be here soon.”

“Others?” Candy asked with a flicker of anxiety which matched Scorpius’. Hagrid smiled mischievously.

“Naturally I had ter invite Rose an’ Lily an’ Hugo, an’ Miss Claudette an’ Miss Nerys, knowin’ how they’re friends o’ yours.”

Candy looked surprised but also pleased.

“Thank you, Hagrid.”

He patted her shoulder briefly before turning back to a three-layer chocolate cake half-covered in thick pink icing.

“Don’t mention it,” he said with fond gruffness, “S’what birthdays are fer.”

Claudette and Nerys arrived together wearing party clothes and bearing presents, clearly fascinated and delighted by the novelty of visiting the home of a half-giant. Candy seemed slightly embarrassed to be the center of so much attention, but she laughed and talked easily with everyone, pretty in a pink cardigan with a sparkling barrette in her hair. Scorpius was glad to see her so happy, and grateful to Hagrid for making it happen. The fact that James hadn’t been included in Hagrid’s guest list went unacknowledged, and privately Scorpius wondered whether he’d been invited at all.

Happy to separate himself from the chatter of the new arrivals, Scorpius had volunteered to help Hagrid with the last of the meal prep by shucking corn. A large bucket of food scraps had been placed on the floor between them and Scorpius deposited the corn leaves into it before handing each ear to Hagrid, who was adding them to a large pot of boiling water. The simple, repetitive task was oddly comforting and Scorpius became so absorbed in it that he almost didn’t notice that the cabin door had opened until Lily’s bright piping voice announced her arrival with Rose and Hugo. Not really paying attention and glad to be on the other side of the cabin away from them, Scorpius was dimly aware of Rose’s polite small talk, introductions being made, and Lily launching into one of her enthusiastic interrogations of Albus.

“I feel like I haven’t seen you in months, I have so much to tell you about Christmas!”

From across the room Scorpius felt something roll over and come alive in the pit of his stomach. He couldn’t make out Albus’ reply, and then didn’t hear Lily at all. In the loud happy swirl of voices Lily and Albus’ silence was quickly becoming ominous, like a sudden cold spot in a lake. Heart beating faster, Scorpius turned to look at them. Near the table Rose, Hugo, Claudette and Nerys were flocking around Candy as though she were the nourishing center of a flower, while Albus and Lily stood slightly apart from them, facing each other. 

At first glance Scorpius could tell from his friend’s body language that Albus was uncertain, even uncomfortable. Lily was facing him at enough of an angle that Scorpius could see most of her face and the growing look of confusion on it. Albus said something in a conversational tone but Scorpius couldn’t make out Lily’s reply, her eyebrows moving closer and closer together as she spoke. A feeling of nausea was building in Scorpius’ throat which he couldn’t quite account for, and then Lily looked across the room at him, their eyes meeting just as Hagrid turned to him, tossing a large stripped bone into the bucket of corn leaves and assorted vegetal debris.

“Whaddaya say, yeh wanna bring the bucket out to ole Bumper fer me?”

“Sure,” Scorpius said, distracted, aware of Lily’s blue eyes boring into him as he bent down to grasp the bucket’s handle. He kept his eyes on the floor as he made his way across the cabin to the front door, where Lily and Albus were standing like the checkpoint along a militarized border. He could feel it suddenly, the rooting worm of an idea in Lily’s mind as he approached, and heard her voice in his head a split second before she actually spoke.

“Here,” she said, stepping neatly around Albus to take one side of the bucket’s handle, “Let me help you with that.”

Albus opened his mouth at once, no doubt to offer his own services, his eyes seeking out Scorpius’, but Scorpius cut him off before he could speak.

“We can get it, don’t worry.”

Looking away so that he wouldn’t have to see the other boy’s obedient nod, Scorpius allowed Lily to help him maneuver the bucket out the front door and down the steps even though it wasn’t heavy. The dark clouds had finally broken open while he’d been inside and the sky was in a full swoon of brilliant sunset, achingly blue and splashed with swoops and knots of pink, gold, grey, and purple clouds as though a massive paintbrush had been extravagantly flung at it. It made everything below look drab and grey in comparison, as though the earth itself was a bucket of corn husks and bones beneath a garden made of blown glass.

As soon as they had reached solid footing Lily let go of the bucket handle and took a step away from Scorpius, her expression grave as she followed him along the side of the cabin past the garden and pumpkin patch.

“What’s wrong with Al?”

Scorpius was still focused on the ground, as though he had been instructed to memorize every irregularity in it. A few options for reply batted back and forth in his mind for a moment before he spoke.

“What do you mean?”

Lily stopped walking and after a couple more steps he did as well, forcing himself to turn and face her. Lily’s arms were hanging at her sides and she didn’t seem aware of the cold, even though she’d left her coat behind in the hut and her cornflower blue jumper wasn’t very thick. Set against the drab colors of the winter garden her long red hair was almost supernaturally bright as it framed her face.

“What do I mean?” 

When he didn’t reply she opened her mouth, closed it, drew her chin in a little and tried again, her voice rising in distress as she spoke. 

“He’s not acting like himself, at all, haven’t you noticed?”

Scorpius’ heart was pounding in his ears and his grip tightened on the handle of the bucket. They’d come to Bumper’s hutch, which stood at the edge of the Forbidden Forest. The massive rabbit wasn’t there, and its domicile looked wrung out and flattened inside, the boards developing slight curves as though they had started to mold themselves to the animal’s body. A large wooden trough ran along the side of the hutch, filled with small skeletons and half-eaten carcasses slowly freezing in old rainwater. Scorpius swallowed.

“I haven’t noticed anything.”

The little girl’s eyes widened and she shook her head, uncomprehending.

“That doesn’t make sense, you have to have noticed, you spend more time with him than anyone-”

Her words ran out suddenly, as though they’d been dropped off of a cliff. In the space of a breath, maybe less, Scorpius felt as though an entire life was lived between them in the cold darkening silence. Lily’s look of confusion and bewilderment faltered, and then turned. She stared at him, and Scorpius knew what she saw, what had suddenly materialized before her like a specter emerging from a painting. 

Night was falling and she was alone with Scorpius Malfoy, at the edge of the Forbidden Forest where he had all but lured her. The chimney side of Hagrid’s hut had no windows and the fierce protective Bumper was nowhere in sight. Something was terribly wrong with her brother and Scorpius Malfoy was lying to her face about it. For the first time in his life Scorpius understood what it really meant to be a Malfoy, and it was worse than the rumors and whispers. When he looked into Lily’s eyes he saw fear. She took a step back and he knew that she was calling on every last bit of cleverness as she shook her head and produced a horrible strained smile.

“Sorry, ignore me. I’m not used to him being away at Christmas, and it’s been so long since we’ve actually gotten a chance to talk…I think I just let my imagination get ahead of me.”

She took another step back. Unable to pull himself away from her mind even if he’d wanted to, Scorpius struggled to focus on what was actually happening in the present moment as possible futures multiplied in his head like an immense prism of time. Lily was going to return to the party, playing off her moment of fear as best she could, and at the first opportunity she was going to go back to the castle, directly to the Headmistress or Professor Dalca. 

Lily turned away to begin walking back to the hut and Scorpius put down the bucket. His wand was in his hand and before he could think twice he pointed it at her and whispered “ _Confundo!_ ”

The spell hit her in the back, harder than he had been expecting, and Lily stumbled over the uneven ground, falling to her knees. His heart pounding in his ears so loud it blocked out every other sound, Scorpius rushed forward to help her, stashing his wand as he did so. 

“Are you okay?” he asked, a slight tremor in his voice. Lily shook her head a little as though to clear it and then nodded, blinking as she allowed him to help her to her feet. The knees of her jeans were smeared with mud.

“Yah, I’m fine,” she looked up at him, her eyes narrowed slightly, “I missed what you were saying though, when I fell.”

Scorpius thought fast.

“Oh, I was just going to explain that Albus hasn’t really been sleeping very well lately. That might be why he’s acting a little off.”

Lily nodded, wiping the palms of her hands together to rid them of dirt in a ponderous, almost meditative way, and Scorpius felt an edge of panic wondering how strong his _Confundus_ charm had been.

“It didn’t occur to me until just now,” he heard himself continue, his voice somehow reasonable, “I’ve been spending so much time with him that I guess I’ve gotten used to it and…and forgot that it wasn’t normal.”

She nodded again and seemed to come back to herself somewhat, her eyes clearing as she folded her arms tight in front of her and smiled at him, shivering.

“It’s cold out here, let’s go back inside.”

As the rest of the evening progressed it gradually dawned on Scorpius that he was going to get away with what he had just done. Lily was acting as though their conversation in the garden had never happened, and he could See that all traces of suspicion and fear had been wiped from her mind as cleanly as from a chalkboard. They ate shepherd’s pie, baked apples, and warm sweet corn slathered in golden butter. Hagrid had managed to scrape together thirteen mismatched candles for the cake and they sang “Happy Birthday” to Candy before she blew them out. Dessert was accompanied by ice cream and afterwards Candy opened her presents, delighting in each one. Albus and Lily sat side by side through it all, smiling and laughing with no sign of unease. Scorpius felt relieved and a little awed in spite of himself, even though his heart was still beating an odd, faltering rhythm in his chest. _I’ll figure it out,_ he told himself, _I’ll figure out what’s going on with Albus and set it right, and then I’ll make it up to Lily. I just need more time._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm happy to say that I had a very productive NaNoWriMo this November and am excited to get back on track with this story. The end is in sight!


	19. London, 1941

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Scorpius tries to take care of Albus and has an unexpected lesson with Professor Robins.

February was swiftly coming to an end and even though Scorpius continued to get away with what he had done to Lily in Hagrid’s garden, their confrontation had allowed something irrevocable to slip through the cracks of his defenses, a genie that he couldn’t force back into its lamp. Something was wrong with Albus. Had _been_ wrong with Albus, was getting worse, and he was no longer able to pretend that it wasn’t happening, even though the knowledge filled him with a fear so deep and profound that he could barely take in the full contours of it, like trying to roll up a map that kept getting larger as he stretched his arms to reach its edges. 

Aside from Lily, however, no one else seemed to have noticed. Albus went about his days as he always had; getting up on time, eating normally, answering questions correctly when called on in class, doing his homework with supreme diligence and concentration, and ignoring the mocking comments which were occasionally thrown his way by other students. With increasing regularity, however, Albus seemed to lose his bearings when he wasn’t given something specific to do, like an actor who had forgotten his lines, and Scorpius rapidly found himself becoming the other boy’s minder. This turned out to be easier than he ever would have guessed. Their social circle had never been overly large, and their grueling school work made it easy for Scorpius to keep them busy and sequestered from situations where Albus might have extended interactions with his siblings and cousins. Even Candy was often scarce; between her other friends, tutoring group, and the Trials, there were days when Albus and Scorpius only saw her at meal times. Scorpius was immensely grateful for their relative isolation within the castle. The thought of Confunding someone else made him recoil as though he had spotted a venomous snake in his path. In spite of the promise he had made to himself that he would figure out what was wrong with Albus and fix it, he had no idea where to begin. The hope he kept coming back to was that the whole thing would evaporate on its own, like a bad dream he and Albus could simply wake up from.

On the first Saturday of March Scorpius got up earlier than usual. The dormitory fire had almost burnt itself out and he shivered miserably as he forced himself to pull back his covers and get out of bed, prodding the freezing stone floor with his toes in the semi-darkness until he found his slippers. As he had expected everyone else seemed to be asleep, and when he rounded his bed he almost jumped out of his skin to discover that Albus was already awake. The other boy was sitting cross-legged in the middle of his bed with the curtains pulled back, fully dressed and, as far as Scorpius could tell, doing absolutely nothing.

“Merlin’s Beard,” Scorpius breathed, remembering to whisper with difficulty, “You scared me. What are you doing?”

Albus smiled.

“I was waiting for you to wake up.”

Scorpius shivered again.

“You didn’t want to read in the common room or anything?”

Albus considered this for a moment. 

“I could have done that, I suppose.”

They stared at each other. 

“Well,” Scorpius said finally, unable to bear the silence, “I was just going to get ready and then head upstairs for an early breakfast if you want to join me.”

The other boy brightened at once as though Scorpius had just presented him with a much-coveted carnival prize and got out of bed, following along as Scorpius led them out of the dormitory.

“What are you doing after breakfast?” he asked.

“I’m meeting with Robins for training,” Scorpius replied, already hearing the other boy’s response in his head.

“Can I come along?” 

“I wouldn’t want you to be bored,” Scorpius said carefully, “Besides, didn’t you want to do those equations for Astronomy?”

Albus frowned.

“I thought we were going to work on them together.”

“We still can if you want;” Scorpius said at once, “There’s that essay for DADA and the vocabulary list for Latin if you’d rather work on those. I’ll only be gone an hour or so and then I’ll be back. We can do the equations then.”

The other boy smiled, mollified, and they proceeded to the Great Hall without further discussion. After they were done eating Scorpius walked Albus back to the dungeons under the pretense of needing to pick up his book bag, but in reality to make sure that Albus returned to the common room without incident. Once the other boy was settled in with his books and papers Scorpius made his escape and headed for Robins’ tower.

 

Lucy loved Saturday mornings, especially in winter. The elevation of her office and the tall evenly spaced windows kept the room reasonably warm all year round, which suited her. Saturday mornings were when she put on comfortable clothes and tended to her plants, moving around the room slowly with a misting spray bottle and an eggshell blue teapot which she used as a watering can. The sun was valiantly staying out of the clouds this morning and the warmth of the light combined with the plants and water made the whole room slightly humid and sweet-smelling, like the inside of a cut pumpkin. As she dusted the wide dark leaves of a rubber plant she heard footsteps on the ladder below and knew that Scorpius had arrived. Taking a deep breath, she stepped over to the pantry cabinet and began arranging cups and tea things on her tray. The trapdoor on the other side of the room creaked open and she turned towards it with a smile. 

“Good morning,” she said.

“Good morning,” Scorpius replied with a sincere, if distracted, smile of his own.

The way the boy dressed always made him look like an eager, upwardly mobile Ministry intern, but she had noticed that he had taken to wearing his full school robes everywhere he went, even on the weekends, which increased this impression dramatically. Today he was wearing dark grey trousers and a white button up shirt under a blue argyle jumper, with his heavy black school robes thrown over. The only concession he seemed to make to casual dress was that on the weekends she had never seen him wear a tie. The dark sober clothes made him look paler and smaller than he actually was, which was already pale and small enough.

“How are you doing today?” she asked lightly, tapping the electric kettle with her wand.

“I’m fine, thanks, how are you?”

“Really well; we actually have sun today.”

She turned in time to see him glance at the nearest window and the smile on his face was sweet and a little surprised, as though he had only just noticed the sunlight. Her father had been the same way, Lucy thought. Happiness had been something he worked at, the way a cobbler made shoes or a farmer tilled the soil. It was work, Lucy sensed, that Scorpius would undertake for the rest of his life.

The kettle pinged and she poured the water into their tea cups before bringing the whole tray over to the table where the boy was sitting with his hands folded in his lap. They made their tea and Lucy studied Scorpius as discreetly as she could, resisting the urge to look into his mind with great difficulty. It had been a long time since she had worked so closely with another psychic, indeed since she was studying Psychology at university, and she had had to get back into the practice of holding herself in check, aware of how easily the delicate trust they had developed could be damaged.

“How has your Sight been since the last time we met?” she asked. He was stirring his tea without looking at her, a mild avoidance which she was used to at this point. The shadows beneath his ghost-colored eyes were dark, a sure sign that he hadn’t slept well the night before. 

“It’s been alright,” he hesitated, “I have-I mean, there have been some moments where it’s difficult to…where I feel like I’m being pulled into someone’s mind, and it’s really hard to stop myself.”

“What does it feel like? The pulling?”

Scorpius thought for a moment.

“Like I’m trying to walk down a steep hill that’s covered in snow.”

Lucy blinked, nodding to herself, still caught off guard by the boy’s eloquence.

“Have you made any empathic connections when this happens, like what you experienced with your father?”

He shook his head.

“Nothing that strong, but…a little bit. Last month…I was in someone’s mind and I knew what they were feeling and thinking about. I could see what they were planning to do.”

Lucy nodded again, desperately curious but knowing that she shouldn’t push for specifics. The fact that he could have so many different kinds of insight all in the same moment was remarkable. If Lucy’s Sight gave her something, it was always in one vein, one impression at a time. She might See someone’s emotions, might sense a specific thought, might anticipate a movement or a statement, but never all at once, and never as thoroughly as what Scorpius seemed to be capable of. It was the difference, she thought, between walking in the rain and jumping into a lake; individual moments of insight versus a totally immersive experience. 

“How do you feel when that happens, when you know it’s coming and you aren’t going to be able to resist it?”

He was quiet. His hair had been growing out steadily and now stood up from his head like perfectly straight white gold wheat, finally bending under its own weight again. 

“Sometimes I don’t try to resist it,” he said, “If, if there’s something I want to know.”

He blushed and she waited patiently for him to go on.

“But then when it’s happening, and afterwards, I feel guilty, like I’ve betrayed them, because they don’t know that it’s happening and they have no choice. There’s nothing they can do to shield themselves from it.”

After this pronouncement he fell silent again, looking down at his hands, and Lucy took a sip of her tea, thinking.

“That’s going to be something you’ll struggle with as long as you use your Sight,” she said after a moment, “The ethical realities of what we do are significant and can’t be dismissed or ignored,” she hesitated, debating with herself, “I don’t blame you for giving in sometimes, or for wanting to. This may sound trite, but power is powerful.”

He was watching her now, the desire for answers and instruction clear in his face, and Lucy felt her heart soften for him. During their time together it had become clear to her that Scorpius did not receive much parenting from his parents, that in a certain sense he was already an orphan, just as she had been for most of her life. She went on.

“That being said, you and I both know that power needs limits, so that it doesn’t prey on others, doesn’t take away their agency and sense of self.”

The boy’s blush deepened and he nodded, looking miserable. Lucy tried to brighten herself, sitting up a little straighter and smiling.

“If you want, I actually have a different exercise that I thought we might try today.”

There was a flicker of interest in his eyes.

“What is it?”

“Have you ever tried meditating?” she asked, preparing herself for him to roll his eyes or look crestfallen, but he just shook his head, a tiny crease appearing between his eyebrows.

“I’ve found that it helps me,” she went on, “to find a place of silence and calm inside of myself, especially before I have to be around lots of people. I thought that maybe it could help you as well, so that the next time you feel yourself being pulled into someone’s mind it will be easier to resist, to consciously choose to hold your mind apart from theirs.”

He nodded.

“I’ll try. How does it work?”

Lucy got up from the table, going over to one of the low cabinets along the wall and taking out the two round cushions she had brought from home, along with a mandala tapestry which she spread on the floor like a picnic blanket before setting the cushions on it across from each other. Hoping that her eccentricity would amuse him, Lucy toed out of her shoes and adjusted the bandana tied around her hair before sitting cross-legged on one of the cushions and smiling up at him in invitation. Scorpius returned the smile self-consciously and followed suit, removing his shoes (but not his robes) and sitting on the other cushion, the very picture of a refined English aristocrat who has been invited to dine with the natives in their caravan tent.

“Alright,” Lucy said, trying to not smile too broadly, “Make sure that you’re sitting comfortably and then when you’re ready you’re going to close your eyes.”

He obeyed, his eyelids the soft pink purple of budding lilacs.

“Next,” Lucy went on, “You’re going to focus on your breathing.”

An almost imperceptible shift in Scorpius’ expression told her that this wasn’t what he had been expecting her to say, but he didn’t say anything and instead took a deep, somewhat exaggerated breath. Gratified by his willingness Lucy proceeded, talking him through a rudimentary version of her own breathing exercise. Gradually she saw his self-consciousness ease away, the tense lines of his face relaxing until he almost looked as though he was sleeping. The silence was rich and green around them and when Lucy stopped talking Scorpius didn’t seem to notice, his eyes still closed as he sat motionless.

“Alright Scorpius,” she murmured, “While you continue to breathe, I’m going to open some doors in my mind. I might even reach out and invite you in, but you don’t have to respond. You don’t have to worry about struggling, or curiosity, or any of that. All you have to do is breathe. You can look at the door and choose to not walk through it.”

Even though he didn’t respond Lucy sensed that he had understood her, and slowly, carefully, she began lowering the defenses in her mind, reaching out for his. She had chosen the memories and feelings beforehand; the party she had thrown for a friend’s thirtieth birthday, going to the Royal Observatory in Greenwich on a primary school trip, the anxiety of the work she had to do for her classes that term and her longing for the return of spring.

The energy of his Sight was strong and palpable, like a current of cool fresh air rippling through the room, or a vein of clear quartz in a block of dark stone. Scorpius had once described his Sight to her as a window being opened in a stuffy room and the metaphor was strikingly apt, considering the fact that he could have no way of knowing how his Sight felt to another psychic. Lucy sat very still on her cushion and waited for that cool, crisp energy to reach her, like an autumn wind rushing into her ears. Today, however, was different. Rather than a focused, rippling current, Scorpius’ psychic energy seemed to be diffusing and filling the space. The room was actually growing colder, and out of the corner of her eye Lucy could see the leaves on the nearest plant stir in the silence, as though one of the tower windows was open.

Scorpius hadn’t moved and with a sudden sense of misgiving Lucy noticed that he seemed to be getting paler. Concerned, she pulled back from his mind, closing her doors and rebuilding her defenses, to see if the retreat would jar him back to himself. Scorpius didn’t stir, but the temperature in the room dropped dramatically. Lucy shivered and when she exhaled her breath misted in the air.

“Scorpius,” she said, her voice catching as she uncrossed her legs. The boy didn’t respond and gave no sign that he had heard her. Lucy got to her knees in the center of the mandala and reached out, hesitating before putting her hands on his shoulders.

“Scorpius,” she said again, louder this time, resisting the urge to shake him, “Scorpius, open your eyes.”

Nothing happened. Panic was beginning to crackle through Lucy when an idea suddenly occurred to her. The intimacy of it turned her stomach at once, but she knew instinctively that it would work. She cupped the side of Scorpius’ face in her hand as gently as she could and murmured, “ _Mon deuce enfant_ , wake up.”

The child jerked beneath her hand and his eyes flew open, darting frantically around the room. He was gasping for air as though he’d been chased by a pack of rabid dogs and Lucy could see sweat beading along his forehead and upper lip, the color rushing back to his face as he gripped her forearm with one hand and held his abdomen with the other, trembling.

“It’s alright, Scorpius, you’re safe. You’re safe.”

The sound of her voice seemed to recall him somewhat and his eyes focused on her face.

“Scorpius,” she said, relieved but still worried, “Can you speak to me? Do you know where you are?”

“They-” he began, still out of breath, “they attacked during lunch; we barely made it to the cellar. Father said they wouldn’t come during the day, they would never risk it.”

“Who attacked?”

“The Germans,” he breathed, his eyes wide and earnest, “I saw Mrs. Houndslowe’s garden get hit as we ran out of the parlor, all of the soil and flowers exploded up from the ground…”

“Who was in the cellar with you?”

“Mother, Abigail, and the twins,” he paused and his eyes began to fill with tears, “Father had to run to the grocer’s, he-he might have been outside, in the streets-”

“Scorpius,” Lucy said, hoping her voice sounded more firm and reasonable than she felt, “No one is attacking. It’s 2019 and you’re at the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.”

He blinked at her, his breath beginning to slow down even though he still looked like he was about to cry. She noticed that he was still holding his abdomen, his entire body tensed as though prepared to fight.

“Do you remember where you are?” 

He nodded. 

“Where are you, Scorpius?” She pressed gently.

“I’m at Hogwarts,” he said, his voice small and uncertain, “We…I was meditating.”

“That’s right,” Lucy said, smiling and releasing a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding, “And clearly it didn’t work the way I hoped it would. I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay,” he said automatically, his face still flushed, “What happened?”

Reluctantly Lucy let go of him and sat back on her heels, wiping away an errant tear as her adrenaline fluctuated dramatically.

“I’m not sure, to be honest; what do you remember?”

He swayed a little as she let go of him, looking bewildered and wrung-out, as though he’d just been drowned and revived.

“I remember…I think I remember you saying that you were going to test me, to see if I could resist getting pulled into your mind.”

Lucy nodded.

“Then what happened?” 

He shook his head, looking lost, then murmured, “My eyes were closed and…it was dark and I heard the cups-the teacups rattling in their saucers…and when I opened my eyes…I was _there_.”

“Where were you?”

“London,” he said at once.

A small voice in the back of Lucy’s head told her that she was going to be terrified by all of this once she had time to process it, but a growing suspicion was demanding her attention.

“Do you remember what year it was there?”

Scorpius drew in a shaky breath.

“1941.”

“What was your name?”

He glanced up at her, looking uncomfortable and frightened.

“Catherine.”

Unable to stop herself Lucy released a burst of somewhat hysterical laughter and wiped away another tear, shaking her head incredulously.

“That was my great-grandmother’s name.”

There was a beat of silence in which Scorpius’ eyes grew very large. Lucy remembered the way he had been holding his belly when he woke up.

“Was she-were you…pregnant?”

Scorpius nodded slowly, a tear running down his cheek.

“How did you know that?” 

“My grandmother was born in 1941.”

The boy sniffed and looked away.

“It was the first thing I noticed when we started running for the cellar,” he murmured, “how hard it was to move. My-her…belly…was like a watermelon, I…” he shook his head, “I don’t understand how someone’s body can do that, without…I don’t know…exploding.”

Lucy smiled at this in spite of her own sense of total disorientation.

“I suppose it is quite strange when you actually stop to think about it.”

Scorpius managed a weak smile in return, still looking shaken and a little sick.

“I guess it’s good to know that she and the baby survived,” he said, then, more hesitantly, “Did her father make it? That day?”

Lucy folded her hands together in her lap, her smile fading.

“No, he didn’t.”

Scorpius’ face fell.

“Oh,” he said quietly after a moment, “I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry too,” she said, reaching out to touch his arm and give it a small squeeze, “I’m sorry that this didn’t work and that you had to go through that.”

“It’s okay,” he said again, “I suppose it was worth a try, but…” he paused and she could see him turning a question over in his mind, clearly afraid of the answer, “was that…was that a normal thing? To have happen to a psychic? To do…that?”

_To pass through another person’s mind and form an empathic connection to someone who’s been dead for years? Absolutely not,_ Lucy thought. She did her best to look reassuring.

“I’m not sure, but it’s definitely something that I’m going to look into.”

Scorpius nodded uncertainly and it occurred to Lucy that she was going to have to write an account of this incident for her monthly report to the Headmistress. It was a standard school policy for any teacher providing one on one instruction with a student, but Lucy did not know of any other student at Hogwarts who was the focus of so much speculation and blatant ill will. She trusted that the Headmistress was trying to shield Scorpius, as were several other teachers, but she knew that all of them were anticipating the day when things came to a head and the tension surrounding the boy finally ignited. In this moment, Lucy thought, she was the only person in the whole world who knew just how powerful Scorpius Malfoy actually was.

 

Scorpius barely comprehended what he was doing as he extricated himself from the lesson with Robins, amazed when he reached the bottom of the ladder that he had managed to descend without missing a rung and falling to his death. The air in the classroom was dryer and colder and he breathed it in gratefully, his stomach still sour and leaden in his gut, his head swimming with what had just happened. He’d barely told Robins the half of it. It wasn’t just that he’d been in another time, or been inside the mind of a woman, which was bizarre beyond belief. What had truly undone him was the baby. He could still feel the rough concrete of the basement floor against his knees as the house shook, his arms ( _her_ arms) wrapped around the distended belly. The baby had _moved_ , twisting like a fish under his skin and making him go clammy in horror.

_Robins’ great-grandmother. Robins’ grandmother._ He staggered into the hallway, trying to calm down as he felt himself start to hyperventilate again, when Candy suddenly came around the corner directly in front of him. Scorpius swore out loud and started back, turning away from her as his heart hammered into his Adam’s apple.

“Sorry, sorry; it’s only me,” she said, then, seeing his face, “Are you alright?”

At any other time this question might have elicited bitter laughter from Scorpius, but he was scraped raw and foundering, the ground on which he was trying to stand crumbling away from him.

“No, not really. What are you doing here?”

Candy looked uncertain.

“I,” she faltered, “I just thought you might want this.”

She held out her hand, and in it was a small scroll of softened parchment on which Astoria’s handwriting was clearly visible.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I went back and forth a little bit on whether or not the scene with Robins is strictly essential to the story or if I just want it because I think it's cool, but I've gone through my pro/con list a few times and am satisfied that it's doing more for the story than just being cool :) Onward! Also cliffhanger! :D


	20. The Final Letter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Candy and Scorpius join forces and Scorpius makes an important decision.

For one mad, breathless moment Scorpius thought that somehow Candy had gone out to the forest and found one of the messengers meant for him, but then he pulled back the edge of his robes to check the inner pocket where he’d been keeping the letters. The seam along the bottom corner of the pocket had popped open and a second scroll was already starting to work its way out. Suddenly exhausted beyond protest or denial, Scorpius held out his hand and she passed the letter to him, watching his face with an enigmatic expression.

“I found it in the common room,” she said, “How long has your mum been writing to you?”

The thought of Confunding her flickered through Scorpius’ mind, but his heart seized at the idea. Feeling at once defeated and profoundly, bone-deep relieved, Scorpius sank down onto the nearest stone window ledge and hung his head, holding the runaway scroll loosely between his knees.

“November.”

Candy stepped forward and hesitated before sitting next to him on the ledge, as though prepared for him to retreat from her. She was wearing ratty jeans and a red plaid work shirt that was too big for her, its cuffs rolled back to her thin wrists, her green gold eyes holding the light like forest pools as she watched him.

“Does anyone else know?” She asked.

He shook his head.

“Just you and me.”

“Why haven’t you told anyone?”

There were tears in his throat and Scorpius swallowed them down, completely at a loss as to whether they were his or Catherine’s, his mind a wreck.

“If the Headmistress knew, or Professor Dalca, I’m worried that they would put a stop to it, and…and I’d never hear from her again.”

Candy was quiet and he couldn’t bring himself to look at her. Everything around him felt too bright, and painful, as though the dust particles in the air would hurt like embers if they touched him.

“Is it true what she’s saying?” Candy asked, nodding towards the letter, “That magic is dying?”

Scorpius felt a strange desire to laugh at the fact that Candy was asking about the contents of his personal letter with no hint of shame that she’d read it. A quintessentially Slytherin moment, he thought, as though the common propriety of such situations was so irrelevant to real life that it wasn’t even worth remembering. 

“I don’t know,” he admitted, shaking his head.

“This is dangerous though, right?”

Scorpius turned the letter between his fingers. The ink had bled through the parchment in places and he could just make out the word _hope_ backwards.

“I think it might be.”

“Why is she telling you then?”

“She’s trying to explain why she had to leave, and…and why she can’t come home.”

“Do you believe her?”

Scorpius looked up at her, unable to deny a spark of indignation at the blunt question.

“She’s my mum.”

Candy had turned towards him, leaning her back against the side of the window with one knee drawn up to her chest. There was a combination of sympathy and pity in her face that made her look much older than she actually was.

“I get that,” she said, “It doesn’t always mean you should though.”

Scorpius swallowed, torn between defensiveness and fear. His Sight was still pulling at him, like a cornered animal snarling in search of escape. Laid on top of Candy like a film projection he could See a man with slicked-back chestnut hair standing at what looked like a kitchen counter. Scorpius looked away from her and squeezed his eyes tight for a moment, trying to pull himself back.

“I know,” he sighed.

“Why haven’t you told Albus?” 

Scorpius faltered inwardly, unprepared for the question, and realized that he didn’t have an answer to it. Something in Candy’s expression changed as she watched him, as though she had guessed his thought.

“Is it because he’s been acting so weird?”

Scorpius’ breath hitched painfully in his chest and horrifyingly, against all logic and reason, he felt Robins’ unborn grandmother twist in his lower abdomen again, like the ghost impression of a severed limb. He opened his mouth but no words came out, and Candy waited, her hazel eyes shrewd and unwavering.

“How…when did you notice?”

She shrugged.

“A few weeks ago, I guess. You’ve noticed too, then?”

Scorpius glanced around them unnecessarily; the hallway couldn’t have been more deserted if they were the last two people alive. Even so, he lowered his voice when he answered.

“I think it might be my fault.”

She frowned.

“Why?”

“That night,” he paused, bracing himself, “That night in Hogsmeade, when Albus was trapped…I did something I shouldn’t have done to break the spell. I used my blood...and I think it might have done something to him.”

A claustrophobic silence filled the space between them, and part of Scorpius’ overstretched mind had just woken up to the fact that he was actually saying these things out loud. He was grateful that his Sight had finally calmed. Candy’s thoughts were at a merciful remove now, like the sound of an ocean in the distance. 

“Huh,” Candy said finally, “I just figured he was in love with you.”

Scorpius almost fell off of the windowsill, his head shooting up in alarm, and she grinned.

“I’m only teasing,” then, her smile fading, “He’s not okay, though, is he.”

Scorpius remembered Albus sitting on his bed in the dark. _I was waiting for you._

“No,” he admitted.

“Who are we going to tell?”

There was no hint of accusation in the question and Scorpius was struck by the fact that Candy was still there, listening to him without the fear that he had seen in Lily. He had taken her friendship for granted, he realized, and knew that he owed her the truth. 

“I don’t know,” he forced himself to meet her gaze, “If I tell someone…everyone’s going to find out, and they’re all going to decide that I’m a Dark wizard, especially if it was my fault.”

“But Albus is your friend,” Candy said after a moment, “If something is really wrong with him that’s more important than what people think of you.”

Her words felt like a cup of ice water being poured over his lungs and Scorpius flinched from them involuntarily, feeling utterly wretched.

“You’re right,” he said, his voice constricted, “I just…” 

Trying to explain his fear to her wouldn’t be adequate, he thought. The idea of putting it into words felt impossible, like trying to describe color to a blind person. _We exist in your mind, douce enfant. Isn’t that real enough?_

Candy shifted next to him on the sill, bringing her leg down so that they were sitting side by side once more. 

“I’m giving you one week to figure this out,” she said, “and then I’m telling.”

The look she gave him was steely and definitive; it was the way she had looked at Hogwarts from their carriage back in September. Even though he still had no idea where to begin, Scorpius nodded.

“Thank you, Candy.”

Her face softened a little and she looked away from him.

“You’re welcome. Just don’t make me regret it, okay?”

“Okay.”

 

Within minutes of their conversation Scorpius realized that he could not have asked for a better confidant. Candy segued smoothly into helping him keep an eye on Albus without giving away that something out of the ordinary was happening and there was an unflappable practicality in her attitude towards the whole thing. If Scorpius had inadvertently cast some kind of Dark controlling spell on Albus he could be expelled, maybe even face discipline from the Ministry of Magic. They would do everything they could to avoid that, with Candy’s seven-day deadline as a failsafe. Even though they both knew that time was of the essence, the idea that something might be permanently wrong, or even fatally wrong, with Albus was never acknowledged out loud between them. After all, Scorpius reasoned, it had only been blood and a simple incantation, how hard could it possibly be to break once they found the right spell? Even though it was almost impossible to find time for anything else with their punishing class schedules and homework assignments, Scorpius and Candy took turns combing through sections of the library that seemed as though they might contain relevant information. Mind control, hypnosis, forbidden magic, none of it seemed to get them anywhere. Scorpius guessed that the information they needed was probably contained in volumes which had been removed from the library after the war and were currently under lock and key in a separate wing.

In spite of Candy’s obvious misgivings, Scorpius had convinced her that it was vitally important for him to continue to go to the eastern forest to look for Astoria’s messengers. Wednesday morning found him walking through the pre-dawn mist along the eastern periphery of the grounds with Albus flying in and out of the trees ahead of him. By now he could practically feel when there was a letter waiting for him in the woods, and as he made his way over the frosted grass, breathing in the quiet sounds of the forest, Scorpius knew that today was a letter day. With a glance over his shoulder at the castle, he and Albus began making their way into the trees, Scorpius’ eyes roving over the low branches and underbrush, knowing by now that all he truly had to do was make himself visible.

Eventually a dark shape caught his eye and as he examined it, tentatively moving in its direction, Scorpius saw that it was a large shaggy owl with tufted ears and yellow eyes, watching him from the depths of a pine tree. Scorpius almost laughed; of all the animals that had been delivering letters to him that year his mother had never used the one animal most employed for correspondence at Hogwarts. The owl stayed where it was as he approached, perching close to the trunk and barely twitching as Scorpius pushed his way between two branches. The dark shelter of the tree was high-ceilinged and fragrant as a chapel, the diffuse forest light barely breaking through. The owl obediently extended its leg towards Scorpius, displaying the small leather pouch attached to it. To Scorpius’ surprise, Albus gave a quiet, anxious chirp and fidgeted on his shoulder, actually going so far as to nip gently at a strand of Scorpius’ hair.

“It is alright,” Scorpius murmured, turning his head towards the bird and gently scooping him off of his shoulder, “Here,” he said, holding Albus out to a nearby branch. The bird still seemed wary but left his hands, shifting from one claw to the other and craning its neck to watch as Scorpius went to the owl, which seemed even larger up close, almost the length of Scorpius’ entire arm. Carefully, Scorpius unwound the leather lacing from the owl’s leg and was able to retrieve the scroll from the small pouch. The owl seemed content to stay where it was and Scorpius backed out of the pine tree respectfully with Albus following along, silently encouraging his retreat. Once they had made their way to the edge of the forest Scorpius paused, unwilling to pull out the scroll and read it in open view of the castle. Instead he sat down on the trunk of a fallen tree and broke the wax seal, unrolling the scroll.

 

_Dear Scorpius,_

_For months now I’ve been preoccupied with all of the things I want to tell you. I’ve even been keeping a list in an effort to prevent myself from forgetting anything, but this is going to be my last letter to you for a while, and I know that as soon as I send it I’m going to think of ten more things that I desperately want to say. I thought we would have more time together. I hoped that I would never have to leave our home. I’m looking back through my list now and feel disheartened by the weight of the information which I have placed upon you in such a relatively short amount of time. In a different life I would have started sooner, would have had the luxury of being gentler about this. I apologize for that._

_I don’t blame you if you’re confused or scared, but I want you to know that you don’t have to be. I want you to see this new world, Scorpius, I want you to be part of it; it’s the gift that every parent dreams of giving their child. In order for that to happen, I need you to do something for me. I need you to find an unused candle, a long thin one will be easiest, and bring it to a quiet place away from other people. Once you’ve lit the candle you’ll need to make a small cut in the palm of your hand and hold it over the candle so that at least one drop of blood falls into the flame. Blow out the fire and break the candle in half. That’s all._

_I love you, Scorpius, more than I could ever hope to say. I hope you’re doing well, being diligent with your schoolwork, practicing your music, and having fun with your friends. I hope we can be together again someday._

_All my love,_  
_Mum_

 

Scorpius blinked down at the letter and then read through it again, confused. The guidance and instruction he’d been waiting for seemed to have finally come; his mother was giving him instructions for a spell, but they seemed incomplete. It was also strange, he thought, that she hadn’t said what the spell was meant to accomplish. Breaking a candle suggested some kind of completion, like the sealing of a pact, and the blood made him think of Albus, his mind immediately jumping to the possibility that this was the spell he had been looking for to help him. _But,_ he thought slowly, _Mum doesn’t know that something’s wrong with Albus. She couldn’t know that._

He read through the letter a third time, his attention catching on the last paragraph. Bothered by something but unsure of what it was, he lay the parchment in his lap and pulled some of the other letters out of his robes (he’d repaired the pocket since Candy’s accidental discovery), unrolling them to scan their contents. In every letter there were a few lines that Astoria never failed to include; her hopes that he was happy and doing well, that he was minding his teachers and completing his schoolwork. He had always accepted these sentiments as general motherly fussing, but now that he thought about it, the fact that she went out of her way to mention these things in each letter seemed odd, especially if she had so many other important things to tell him that she was keeping a list.

Astoria was giving him instructions on how to complete a blood spell, and the way she had laid them out made it seem as though she didn’t expect him to have any questions about why she was asking him to do these things. It was clear that she just expected him to obey. _But I’m not the one under a spell,_ Scorpius thought, _Albus is._ He thought of Albus, turning towards him with that somewhat vacant, questioning look, and saw himself, mutely turning towards his mother, hoping for her to make sense of everything so that his mind could finally be put at ease. Between one breath and the next it felt as though he had twisted a key in just the right way and suddenly an entire network of locks was easing apart for him. _The spell in Hogsmeade was meant for me,_ he thought, and the letter he was holding slipped from his fingers and fell into his lap.

The life of the forest continued on around him; most of the birds had flown away to warmer climes, but a few could be heard rustling and calling out to each other in the branches above him. The sun was rising through the mist in its steady, indefatigable way, and the cold was starting to make Scorpius’ fingertips go numb. A weight dropped onto his shoulder as Albus gracefully landed on his thick leather shoulder guard, and again the bird nipped gently at Scorpius’ hair, this time seemingly in an attempt at reassurance.

“I know,” Scorpius said, his throat suddenly thick, “I know.”

He looked down at the rolls of parchment, covered in his mother’s elegant yet clear handwriting, and he began rolling them back up. When he blinked a tear fell onto his hand but he didn’t stop to wipe it away, or the others that began to follow. Once the letters were all rolled up it occurred to him that he needed some way to band them together. He took off one of his shoes and pulled off his sock, putting the bundle of scrolls into it and folding the excess material around them, trying to make the bundle as small as possible. He held it up for Albus to see.

“Is this too big for your leg?” he asked, sniffing.

The hawk bobbed its head in an eager way and jumped down onto Scorpius’ knee, its sharp claws digging through Scorpius’ robes as the bird worked to balance, holding out its other leg for the bundle.

“Okay, one sec.”

Setting the bundle down in his lap Scorpius picked up his shoe and deftly pulled out the lacing. He positioned the sock against the side of Albus’ leg and began winding the shoe lace around both. Once the bundle was secured in place Albus flapped his wings and flew a quick circle around Scorpius as though to demonstrate his ability to successfully transport the letters.

“That’s good,” Scorpius said, holding up his arm. Albus obediently alighted on the leather hawking glove, looking attentive. “I don’t have anything to write an address with, I’m sorry, but I need you to take these letters to the Ministry of Magic in London,” his words cut off as a sob rose in his throat and he choked it back, “I need you to take them to Harry Potter.”

He said the name as clearly as he could and the bird bobbed its head again at once, already beginning to fidget in anticipation of flight. Scorpius got to his feet and emerged from the forest, Albus swaying a little on his arm. Once they were a satisfactory distance from the tree line Scorpius held his arm steady for a moment, making sure that Albus was paying attention, then gave a command whistle and raised his arm to the sky. The momentum launched Albus’ takeoff and the bird was flying away towards the lake, beating its wings into the cold grey sky. Scorpius stood and watched, his heart aching. When he could no longer see the bird he took off his hawking glove and shoulder armor and wiped his eyes with his knuckles. He needed to find Albus right away.

People were just starting to make their way into the Great Hall for breakfast as he crossed through the castle’s grand foyer and Scorpius remembered that it was a weekday, that they had classes to go to, but the knowledge had never felt less important. _It probably won’t matter if I never go to class again,_ he thought. Down in the dungeons most of his housemates appeared to still be asleep, at least judging from the emptiness of the common room, but Albus was awake. He was sitting on the wide stone windowsill with a book open on his lap, but the way he held it told Scorpius that he hadn’t been reading, he had been waiting. The other boy turned his head and lit up like a Christmas tree when he saw Scorpius.

“Good morning.”

“Good morning,” Scorpius managed, crossing the room to their dormitory. Without caring if Albus followed him or if his roommates were still sleeping, Scorpius walked to his bed and tossed his hawking equipment onto it, then turned on his heel and left again. Albus was still sitting on the windowsill, watching Scorpius return with a bemused, expectant look on his face.

“Is Candy up yet?” Scorpius asked. Albus shook his head.

“I don’t know, I haven’t seen her.”

“Good, I-” Scorpius felt a great deal of his confidence slip away and took a deep breath, trying again, “I need you to come with me, Albus, so we can talk.”

“Okay,” Albus said, putting aside his book and standing up at once. Scorpius prompted him to return his book to the dormitory and then led them out of the common room and into the dark subterranean hallway beyond. It occurred to Scorpius that he had no idea where they were actually going, but Albus followed along unquestioningly in his wake as he led them up to the first floor, where he was relieved to discover that the first empty room they encountered was unlocked. It was a storage room, full of broken furniture and boxes of what looked like decommissioned textbooks, their cardboard covers falling apart, covered in graffiti. Scorpius closed and locked the door behind them. They were properly alone now and the sight of Albus was so intimately familiar it made Scorpius want to look away. He was already in his uniform and school robes, looking as he did every morning; clean and happy, ready for whatever the day would bring, his freshly combed hair a disaster waiting to happen. Scorpius covered his face with his hands for a moment, at a loss for how to proceed.

“Albus,” he began, “Who am I?”

Albus looked politely puzzled but smiled, as though Scorpius was setting up to tell him a joke.

“You’re Scorpius Malfoy.”

“But who am I to you? What’s our relationship?”

“You’re my best friend,” Albus said at once, looking pleased to know the answer. 

“Right,” Scorpius said, moving closer to him and trying to stay calm, unsure of what he meant to accomplish with his questioning, “But what does it mean that we’re best friends?”

Albus looked confused again, his eyebrows coming together.

“I guess,” Albus said, “it means that we spend time together and enjoy doing similar things.”

Scorpius took a step back and ran his hands through his hair in frustration.

“Okay how about this, who’s Lily?”

“She’s my sister,” Albus responded promptly.

“And what does that mean?”

Scorpius could hear the desperation in his own voice but didn’t know how to control it. Albus was watching him with a somewhat forbearing expression, as though Scorpius was elderly and confused.

“It means that we have the same mother and father.”

Without thinking Scorpius pulled back his hand and slapped Albus across the face. The sound of it rang out in the empty room like a firecracker and Albus’ head snapped to the side as he staggered backwards. Scorpius’ hand was burning and he watched with mounting panic as Albus straightened up and looked at him in hurt confusion.

“That was uncalled for.”

Scorpius began to cry.

“I’m sorry,” he said, stepping closer to touch the red hand print on the other boy’s cheek, “I’m so sorry-”

“Why did you hit me?” Albus asked, making Scorpius cry harder.

“Because there’s something wrong with you,” he choked, “and it’s all my fault.”

Albus took Scorpius’ hands, holding them in both of his own. He was smiling and there was a terrible blankness in his eyes.

“I’m sure it’s not your fault.”

Scorpius shuddered, the last shred of his resolve falling away.

“Albus, we need to go to the Hospital Wing.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another cliffhanger as we approach the climax!


	21. Recalled to Life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Scorpius brings Albus to the Hospital Wing, with unexpected and potentially devastating results.

The impression that the world was ending intensified as Scorpius opened the door to the Hospital Wing. Half the beds were occupied by students in various stages of incapacitation, Madame Pomfrey bustling between them with supreme economy as she felt foreheads and spooned potion into reluctant mouths. Most of the students looked as though they had bad colds or stomach bugs, but there was one girl whose hair had been transfigured into writhing red snakes, and high-pitched rodent squeaks were emanating from the far side of the room where a privacy screen had been pulled around one of the beds. A handful of heads lifted in their direction when he and Albus entered the room and Scorpius clenched his fists, averting his eyes involuntarily, and was alarmed to find Aberforth Dumbledore sitting on a wooden chair which was comically small for his large frame. He nodded at them in greeting, looking bored.

“How’s it then?”

“I, uh,” Scorpius stammered, forgetting his manners, “what are you doing here?”

Aberforth shrugged.

“They ran out of frog’s eye myrrh and a couple other things down in the village, asked me to come up.”

Scorpius nodded, barely listening, aware of Albus at his side and the stares still being directed towards them. Madame Pomfrey didn’t seem to have noticed their arrival and Scorpius stepped closer to Aberforth, half-turning his face from the rest of the room.

“Mr. Dumbledore,” he said, his voice low, “We-we’re actually here because…”

He faltered and Aberforth waited, raising one eyebrow mildly. 

“I think something might have happened to Albus,” Scorpius whispered, “Left over from Halloween.”

There was a spark of interest in the old man’s blue eyes and he looked past Scorpius to where Albus stood, calmly watching them with his hands hanging at his sides. Aberforth slowly got to his feet like the reluctant host at a party and stepped forward.

“How’re we doing this morning, Mr. Potter?”

Albus looked up at him and smiled.

“I’m doing well, thank you.”

Aberforth frowned slightly.

“Mr. Malfoy doesn’t seem too sure about that.”

“I know, that’s why we’re here.”

“What happened to your face?” Aberforth asked, nodding to where Albus’ skin was starting to darken along his cheekbone. Albus didn’t so much as blink.

“It was just an accident, I’m fine.”

Looking down at his shoes, Scorpius saw Aberforth turn to him out of the corner of his eye and felt the wizard’s piercing gaze.

“I hit him,” Scorpius said, “I was trying to snap him out of it.”

There was a moment of silence before Aberforth turned away from them and headed across the wing to where Madame Pomfrey was putting away a stack of folded linens in a large cupboard.

“Should I have told him the truth?” Albus asked, sounding genuinely uncertain. Scorpius didn’t know what to say.

“You’re doing fine,” he offered lamely and the other boy smiled. Madame Pomfrey had put down her laundry and was now striding towards them with Aberforth close behind. 

“Alright, what seems to be the trouble over here?” She asked briskly, surveying Albus from head to foot as she spoke.

“I don’t know,” Albus replied, “I feel fine but Scorpius said we should come.”

Madame Pomfrey nodded and reached out to gently tilt Albus’ bruising cheek towards the light.

“Does this hurt?”

“Not so much anymore.”

“Why did Scorpius hit you?”

In spite of her light tone Scorpius could sense her anxiety, as well as Aberforth’s. Albus seemed completely oblivious, considering the question.

“He’s worried about me.”

“Do you think he’s right to be worried?”

Albus gave Scorpius a fond look that made his blood run cold.

“He cares about me; it makes sense that he’s worried.”

Madame Pomfrey stood up a little straighter, folding her hands against the front of her apron.

“Well I would like to do some simple tests, Mr. Potter, just to be sure. Is that alright with you?”

“Of course,” Albus said at once, and she nodded.

“Can you pat your head with your right hand?”

Albus obeyed, his expression bright and expectant. Madame Pomfrey smiled.

“Very good. Can you rub your belly with your left hand at the same time?”

It took a moment for Albus to coordinate himself but he looked gratified when she congratulated him.

“That was excellent, Mr. Potter. Now, if you would repeat after me, _‘Wandering wastrel wizards warrant wary wanded watchers when wisdom wants wending’_.”

“Wandering wastrel wizards warrant wary wanded watchers when wisdom wants wending.”

Scorpius glanced up at Aberforth. The old wizard was standing very still with his arms crossed over his chest, his eyes sharp as he studied Albus. Madame Pomfrey drew a wand out of her apron pocket, smiling.

“One last test, Mr. Potter. _Ignis._ ”

A small bright flame sprang to life on the tip of her wand, which she held up between herself and Albus like a candle.

“May I put this in your hair?”

Scorpius blinked, startled. For a split second Albus looked as though he was going to consent, then he hesitated and turned to Scorpius, clearly waiting for direction. The alarm was visible in Madame Pomfrey’s eyes as she looked at Scorpius and he shook his head helplessly.

“It’s not, I didn’t-”

“That’s alright, Mr. Potter,” Madame Pomfrey said after a breath, turning back to Albus, “We don’t need to do that test right now.”

“Poppy,” Aberforth said quietly. She gave a tiny half-nod in his direction while continuing to address Albus.

“Why don’t you have a seat on that bed down there at the end for me while we work this out, okay?”

As though he’d been given much more explicit instructions Albus went to the bed and took off his robe, hanging it on the corner of the headboard, then toed out of his shoes and sat cross-legged in the very middle of the bed. Once this had been done he promptly looked to Scorpius.

“Will you stay here with me?”

Scorpius swallowed and glanced up at Madame Pomfrey, unsure. A deep crease had settled between her eyebrows which she no longer seemed capable of smoothing away, but her voice was somehow still unconcerned and pleasant when she spoke.

“I think that sounds like a fine idea, Mr. Malfoy, if you wouldn’t mind.”

Understanding that this was not a suggestion, Scorpius nodded to Albus.

“I’ll stay.”

The other boy beamed at him and Scorpius did his best to smile back as he took a seat on the chair next to Albus’ bed. Aberforth was still standing at the foot of the bed with his arms crossed, his expression grave as he watched Albus. When Madame Pomfrey brought over a length of white privacy curtain, guiding it around the bed with her wand, Aberforth ducked around it, murmuring something to her which Scorpius couldn’t hear before walking away and out of the Hospital Wing. For the first time Madame Pomfrey seemed nervous, twisting her fingers together a little as she spoke.

“I just need to step into my office for a moment, Mr. Potter, but I’ll be back soon, alright?”

“Alright.”

After a glance in Scorpius’ direction Madame Pomfrey gave Albus a tight smile and nodded before leaving. The two of them sat in silence after she’d gone and Scorpius was relieved; he didn’t know if he could bear the other boy’s obsequiousness a moment longer. A few minutes later Madame Pomfrey returned.

“Well, Mr. Potter, I called your mother to tell her how well you did on those tests and she was so impressed that she wants to come hear about them in person. I thought it would make sense for us all to wait for her here; does that sound like a good plan to you?”

“Of course,” Albus said, looking to Scorpius as though for confirmation that he’d spoken correctly. Scorpius nodded, wishing he had an ounce of Madame Pomfrey’s fortitude when it came to hiding his own horror. She left them again and Scorpius could hear her hurriedly making the rounds with her other patients, one of whom was being violently ill into what sounded like a large aluminium bucket. The door to the Hospital Wing opened and Scorpius heard quick, decisive footsteps making their way towards the back of the room. Bracing himself for Albus’ mother, Scorpius turned towards the curtain as it opened and almost had a heart attack.

Professor Dalca was in her standard uniform, hair tightly pulled back and black combat boots polished to a high shine. Calmly and without a word she took an immovable stance exactly where Aberforth had been, her hands resting casually in the pockets of her army pants as she looked between them with an unreadable expression.

“Good morning, Professor,” Albus said, and she nodded to him.

“Good morning, Mr. Potter,” then, “Mr. Malfoy.”

Scorpius’ mouth had gone dry in panic.

“Good morning,” he said weakly.

Completely unfazed, Albus continued to wait on his hospital bed with a vague polite smile, and the three of them quickly lapsed into one of the most uncomfortable silences Scorpius had ever experienced. Dalca barely moved and gave the impression that she could stand perfectly at attention until the sun collapsed in on itself. It didn’t take much effort on Scorpius’ part to guess what was going on. Madame Pomfrey had summoned Dalca to monitor them while she worked. He couldn’t help but wonder what kind of message had been sent to pull her away from her class. Did she think Scorpius was dangerous? That he was controlling Albus? Scorpius remained where he was and said nothing, feeling like a specimen under a microscope. After what felt like an eternity a great swirling rush of air could be heard coming from the large fireplace which was set at the far end of the room near Pomfrey’s office, followed by a woman’s voice, taut with anxiety.

“Poppy?”

There was a hushed exchange as Ginny was intercepted by Madame Pomfrey. Scorpius glanced up at Albus, who didn’t seem to have had any particular reaction to his mother’s voice. A minute or so later the curtain was pulled back. Ginny Potter’s long red hair was in a messy knot on top of her head and she was wearing a thin dark blue jumper and jeans with a man’s long grey woolen overcoat and scuffed brown leather boots. 

“Hi, Mum,” Albus said, and she swallowed, returning his smile with obvious effort as she approached.

“Hi Al.”

Sitting on the other side of the bed Scorpius watched her large blue eyes search Albus’ face. There was relief there, that Albus was conscious and intact, that he wasn’t bleeding, but there was also a deep growing terror as she smoothed the hair at his temple with the pad of her thumb.

“How are you doing, love?”

“I’m okay, how are you?”

Scorpius thought that he would have given anything he owned for Albus to notice his mother’s distress, to reach out and comfort her, but the other boy was as calm and polite as ever. Ginny’s chin crumpled briefly as she tried to smile, her eyes wet.

“Better now that I’m with you.”

Madame Pomfrey stepped up behind her and spoke softly.

“If you’re alright with them I was going to find the Headmistress.”

Ginny nodded and Madame Pomfrey again disappeared behind the curtain. As though she had just noticed them, Ginny glanced up at Scorpius and then, a little more warily, at Dalca, who inclined her head respectfully. Scorpius suspected that under normal circumstances Albus’ mother would have asked the other woman to leave, but the authority Dalca exuded was unquestionable. _And,_ he thought, _these aren’t normal circumstances_. There was a second chair on Ginny’s side of the bed and she sat down on it, turning back to Scorpius with an odd kind of willful neutrality.

“How long has he been like this?” 

Scorpius glanced at Albus but he seemed content to be silent until someone addressed him directly. It was tempting to lie, but he could feel Dalca’s eyes on him and could still hear the sound of his hand against Albus’ face. 

“I started noticing in December.”

There was an unbearable silence.

“It wasn’t this bad at first,” he added, then shut his mouth firmly before more panicked justifications could escape from it. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Ginny preparing to speak when Dalca’s voice suddenly cut across the silence, calm and commanding.

“This talk should wait for the Headmistress.”

Ginny stiffened a little but complied, blinking away tears as they fell silent again. Occasionally Albus looked between them with a vague little smile, as though they were traveling somewhere together. The white privacy curtain heightened Scorpius’ sense of unreality, making him feel simultaneously shielded and exposed, as though the four of them were performing a play. Ginny was paler than Albus; every inch of skin that Scorpius could see was covered in freckles and her eyelashes were the color of apricots. Even though the two women couldn’t have been more different, Scorpius was reminded of Astoria and felt a sudden longing for her which surpassed all reason.

“It’s funny,” Ginny murmured, “this happened to me my first year.”

“What?” Scorpius asked. She looked over at him with a grim half smile.

“I was possessed by a diary that had belonged to Voldemort. I hardly remember any of that year,” she took Albus’ hand and sniffed as he watched her with mild interest, “It’s not the same of course. Voldemort used me to unleash a monster that was supposed to kill Muggleborns. I almost died here.”

Scorpius stared at her, not knowing what to say.

“I’m sorry,” he said finally, “That’s horrible.”

“I’ve never told you that story, have I?” she said to Albus, who tilted his head slightly and blinked.

“I don’t think so.”

Ginny’s face crumpled again and she looked down to where she held Albus’ hand, trying to compose herself. 

“How did you have Voldemort’s diary?” Scorpius asked, his curiosity getting the better of him. Ginny studied him for a moment.

“Your grandfather planted it on me in Diagon Alley when I was getting my school books.”

There was a heavy lurch in the pit of Scorpius’ stomach. He felt himself slipping into her mind and the memory of his grandfather was like a presence in the room with them, cold and disdainful, accompanied by the hatred of an eleven-year-old girl who had grown into the woman sitting across from him. Scorpius felt as though he couldn’t quite catch his breath. Ginny quickly brushed her eyes with the cuff of her jumper, sitting up a little straighter. 

“I’m sorry,” she said, “You should know that I’m not saying…I’m not accusing you of anything.”

Scorpius couldn’t bring himself to look at her. 

“I’m just scared.” Her voice broke a little and the last word was cut off abruptly.

“You don’t have to be scared, Mum, I’m fine.”

For a fraction of a second Ginny and Scorpius looked at each other, then both of them turned to Albus, who was blinking at his mother in confusion.

“Albus?” Ginny said, reaching up to touch his face and look into his eyes. He flinched back a little, trying to smile even though he looked worried by her earnestness. At the foot of the bed Dalca came out of her stance.

“That’s me,” Albus said, laughing awkwardly. A low moan escaped Scorpius and he sank forward onto the bed, his face in his hands as relief and adrenaline flooded through him. He felt Albus shift and then the other boy’s hand was on his shoulder.

“Scorpius? Hey, what’s wrong?”

Afraid that he was imagining all of it, Scorpius lifted his head. Albus’ eyes were so much brighter than he remembered, deep and glinting like green marbles, his smile coaxing, his face _alive_.

“You weren’t well, sweetheart,” Ginny said, holding onto her son with both hands now as though worried he would slip away again. Albus looked between them, frowning.

“Only for a few minutes, but once I woke up and had that potion I started feeling better right away.”

Scorpius felt as though the air was being sucked out of him all over again. Before any of them could respond to this the privacy curtain was somewhat aggressively pushed aside to reveal the Headmistress and Madame Pomfrey. 

“What’s happened now?” McGonagall asked, looking from Albus to Dalca, “Amalia?”

For the first time Scorpius saw open bewilderment on Professor Dalca’s face as she turned towards McGonagall, clearly at a loss. 

“He,” Ginny faltered, “he seems to have come out of it.”

Albus looked around at all of them, suddenly seeming less sure of himself.

“I was already out of it,” he turned to Scorpius, “Remember? We were just talking about-about what happened,” his brows furrowed a little at the morning sunlight coming through the curtain, “I guess…last night?”

He reached up to rub the back of his head and was brought up short, feeling his hair. Scorpius watched as confusion came to Albus’ face, followed by disbelief.

“I...,” he was going pale, “I don’t…what?”

Ginny scooted closer and put a steadying hand on his shoulder.

“It’s okay, Al, you’re okay.”

He looked at her, his eyes wide.

“What’s going on, what-” Scorpius could practically feel the other boy’s heart pounding, “It-it’s November now, right?”

His mother covered her mouth with her hand, shaking her head, and Madame Pomfrey took a step forward, as gentle as Scorpius had ever seen her.

“It’s March 6th, Albus.”

Albus’ hand was still at the nape of his neck and trembled as he lowered it back down to his lap, his head shaking a little as though in denial. With terrible inevitability, as though he was still under the spell, he turned again to Scorpius, who could feel the other boy’s unspoken plea, the hope that somehow Scorpius could still make sense of everything. _I was wrong,_ Scorpius thought, _this is when the world ends_. He took a deep breath and when he spoke his voice sounded rough and strange in his ears.

“On Halloween, my mum laid the trap in Hogsmeade. It was supposed to catch me, but it caught you instead. I don’t know why. After Halloween I started getting letters, from my mum, telling me things…her beliefs about magic,” he paused, “I think the spell was supposed to make me...open, to what she was saying. She thought it had worked, but as the letters went on I realized…that something was happening to you instead, that you were acting less and less like yourself.”

Comprehension was dawning in Albus’ eyes and Scorpius looked away, feeling as though he was going to be sick.

“At first I tried to tell myself that I was just imagining it, and then I hoped that it would just go away on its own. But then it got worse. I started to be afraid that it was my fault, that-that I had put a spell on you by accident.”

He stopped himself, half-expecting the Headmistress to interject, but she didn’t. _I guess keeping it a secret doesn’t really matter anymore,_ he thought.

“I used Dark magic to break the spell in Hogsmeade and I was scared of what would happen if people found out. I thought maybe I could find a way to fix what was happening on my own, but then-” the words caught in his throat and he wished with all his heart that he could melt into the floor and never return, “But then this morning I got another letter, from-from her, and she…she gave me instructions, on how to complete the spell she started on Halloween, and that’s when I realized what had happened, that all along it was her-”

His words cut off and Scorpius clenched his teeth, feeling as though nothing would ever be strong enough to lift his head again. He felt dirty, like a spreading stain of black ink, and thought again of Lily standing in Hagrid’s dead garden, staring up at him in fear when it wasn’t even the Malfoy side of him that she needed to be afraid of.

“I’m so sorry,” he said.

A brutally protracted silence followed. Finally, Professor Dalca spoke.

“Where are your mother’s letters now?”

“I mailed them to the Ministry earlier this morning…to Mr. Potter.”

Madame Pomfrey moved around Ginny to check the pulse in Albus’ wrist, looking down at her watch as she did so. After a few seconds she let go of him and felt his forehead, looking intently into his face. Albus allowed these ministrations mutely, his expression numb, as though he still wasn't completely connected to what was happening. Pomfrey turned her head to address Professor Dalca.

“Did you see it happen?”

Dalca didn’t respond for a moment, a troubled expression in her eyes.

“He appeared to awaken,” she said, choosing her words carefully, “And certain parts of Mr. Malfoy’s story would seem to match my findings in this matter.”

The four women exchanged a complex series of looks and Scorpius felt the weight of everything that was not being said between them like thick, oppressive smog in the air. Finally Ginny spoke, her tone delicate.

“Minerva…”

The Headmistress nodded briskly and cleared her throat, clasping her hands together in front of her.

“Now that Mr. Potter seems to have been delivered from danger, he should have the opportunity to converse privately with Madame Pomfrey and his mother. Mr. Malfoy,” she lifted her chin towards Scorpius, “If you would please come with me, I will escort you back to your dormitory.”

Scorpius glanced at Albus, but the other boy wasn’t looking at him. His eyes were fixed unseeingly on his right knee. Scorpius got to his feet, feeling unsteady.

“Yes, ma’am.”

No one remarked upon his departure and none of them looked at him directly. The Headmistress held aside the curtain for him and he followed her silently out of the Hospital Wing. The hallways were mercifully empty; first period was almost over. He and Albus should have been in Potions. He imagined Candy showing up and sitting at their usual table with Nerys, wondering where they were, and hoped that she wasn’t scared. McGonagall did not say anything to him as they made their way down through the castle to the dungeons, and every _clack clack clack clack_ of her heels sounded like a judge’s gavel, making the silence louder, the inevitable speech that much more dreaded. When they reached the entrance to Slytherin the Headmistress folded her arms across her chest, standing perfectly straight and staring down at her pointed shoes. It wasn’t until she glanced over at him with a raised eyebrow that he realized she didn’t know the password to get in. Flummoxed, he quickly stepped up to the door.

“Wolfsbane.”

The door swung open and he entered into the empty common room. McGonagall followed, looking around with something like curiosity, almost as though she’d never been there before. Scorpius stood watching her in the grey green underwater light until he couldn’t bear it anymore.

“I-should I pack my trunk, ma’am?”

For a moment she didn’t seem to realize that he had spoken, but then her gaze came into focus as she processed what he had said.

“Why would you need to pack your trunk, Mr. Malfoy?”

“If…if I’m being sent home.”

The thought was so terrible that he couldn’t bring himself to go on. There was a long silence between the two of them before the Headmistress finally spoke.

“You’re not being sent home.”

Scorpius blinked up at her.

“I’m not?”

She pursed her lips in a businesslike way.

“No, Mr. Malfoy. I have brought you here so that you may collect your school things, and then I am going to escort you to your second period class so that I can make the proper excuses for your tardiness to your professor.”

Scorpius nodded, unable to conceal his surprise.

“Yes, ma’am.”

Without waiting for further instruction he went to his dormitory and retrieved his book bag, quickly checking to make sure he had everything he needed, and then rejoined her in the common room. 

“Very well then,” she said, “We shall proceed.”

Scorpius’ second class, Latin with the Hufflepuff second years, had been underway for ten minutes by the time he and Professor McGonagall made it up to the classroom. The door was shut and Scorpius experienced the burning humiliation of having every student in the class turn as one to watch him with unabashed curiosity as he came in, going straight to the table near the back of the room where Candy was sitting while McGonagall briefly whispered to Professor Gagnon by the door. Candy had saved him a seat, pulling her book bag off of the chair next to hers as he approached the table, her eyes full of questions.

“Is Albus okay?” she whispered as soon as he sat down. Given that people were still glancing over their shoulders at him he turned his head away as much as he could to whisper his reply.

“He’s fine, in the Hospital Wing. The spell broke.”

Candy’s eyes widened but she didn’t have a chance to ask anything else because McGonagall had left and Professor Gagnon was resuming his lesson, looking a little flustered by the interruption. Scorpius scrambled to get out his textbook and writing supplies, leaning over to see as Candy showed him what page they were on. It was almost impossible to concentrate. He hadn’t had breakfast and in spite of everything that had happened that morning his stomach was beginning to protest this fact aggressively. He also found his thoughts constantly returning to his hawk, at that moment on its way to London with his mother’s letters. He thought of all the little endearments she’d meant just for him, lying on a desk somewhere in the Ministry of Magic as evidence, as proof that would be used to hunt her, maybe even harm her. _Mon doux enfant._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is this all making sense? Please let me know if it isn't!


	22. Aftermath

Albus spent the rest of the school day in the Hospital Wing with his mother. Professor Dalca had cancelled her first two classes but left to teach her third, apparently satisfied that Albus was in no immediate danger. Even though nothing seemed to be physically wrong with him the white privacy curtain remained in place around his bed and Albus tried to tell himself that this was a gesture of consideration for his mother more than for himself. Still needing to attend to her other patients, Madame Pomfrey’s intermittent check-ins consisted mostly of performing little cognitive tests on Albus, similar to the ones she had reportedly done that morning when Scorpius brought him to her.

_Don’t think about that._

Whenever Albus started to think about what had happened to him he could feel another part of his brain pulling him back, as though he was walking too close to the edge of a cliff. In those moments all he had to do was look over at his mother and she would take his hand, or start telling him a story about one of the matches she’d covered or something funny that his grandfather had done. At lunchtime a house elf brought up a tray of food for them which they ate picnic-style on Albus’ bed. The whole thing was making him feel contagious, as though he’d been placed in quarantine.

The Headmistress returned to check on him a little after three o’clock, looking troubled and harried but also genuinely relieved that his condition was stable. Madame Pomfrey joined them, followed shortly thereafter by Professor Dalca. They wanted to know what he remembered and to what degree of detail, and even though the questioning was done gently Albus struggled to answer, feeling as though he was dangling over the cliff’s edge by a length of scrawny root like something out of a cartoon. Dalca kept working the conversation back towards Scorpius in subtle yet unmistakable ways, and every time she did it Albus was reminded of the undercurrent running through the proceedings.

_Don’t think about that._

Ultimately it was concluded among the women that Albus seemed well enough to return to his normal school business if he wanted. Apparently the story told to his professors was that he had seemed a little out of sorts and Madame Pomfrey had recommended that he take the day off for observation, a benign excuse that had enough truth in it while still leaving out all mention of Scorpius as well as the serious implications of what had actually happened. Albus nodded and smiled and agreed with their conclusions, maintaining that he was fine and felt well enough to leave the Hospital Wing. Professor Dalca left, the Headmistress left, his mother put on her coat, and Albus was tying his shoes when Madame Pomfrey came over to him with a stoppered glass bottle labeled _Sweet Sleep_.

“Here,” she said, “I’m recommending that you take a tablespoon of this each night before you go to bed.”

Albus looked at the bottle.

“Why?” he asked. There was a flicker of something in the old woman’s eyes but she smiled easily.

“You don’t have to,” she said, “It’s just if you find yourself feeling a little anxious at the end of the day.”

“It’s not a bad idea Al,” Ginny murmured, “Just in case.”

Albus took the bottle and thanked Madame Pomfrey as he tucked it into the pocket of his robes. He endured the goodbye with his mother, painfully torn between wanting her to stay and wanting her to leave. She Floo’d out through the Hospital Wing fireplace and Albus looked at the clock for what had to have been the tenth time in as many minutes. It was almost five now; people would be finishing up with after-school clubs and practices soon and would start heading to the Great Hall for dinner. Scorpius and Candy would be among them; they preferred to eat dinner on the early side when it was a little less crowded. 

“Do you want someone to walk you back to your dormitory? Or to the Great Hall?” Madame Pomfrey asked. Albus shook his head.

“I’ll be alright. Thank you though, for everything.”

She smiled at him and gave a little bow of her head, looking tired but happy.

“I am just glad you’re better. You know you can come see me anytime if you start to feel anxious or unwell, don’t you?”

Albus nodded and did his best to smile in an easy, unconcerned way.

“Yes, thank you.”

 _Better. Alright._ The words had never meant so little as he left the Hospital Wing and found himself walking through the castle with no real awareness of where he was going. He felt the need to focus on small things one at a time, the cracks and imperfections in the floor, the sound of his footfalls as he walked. He counted every window he passed. 

“Albus?”

His head snapped up and he realized that he had arrived in the entrance hall. Candy had spoken; she and Scorpius were standing a few feet away and came over to him at once with Candy leading the way, looking relieved and happy, while Scorpius followed with obvious reluctance. As Candy hugged him Albus realized that he was thoroughly unprepared for this encounter. A flood of memories was welling in his mind; sitting with Candy, talking to her, walking to and from classes, the endless hours they had spent studying together. _It was all real_ , he reminded himself, _all of that happened_. Candy pulled back and beamed as she looked into his face for confirmation that he really was himself once again.

“I’m so glad you’re okay,” she said. Albus swallowed against the rapid cadence of his own heartbeat.

“Did you know what was going on?”

He could tell from the shift in her expression that he had failed to ask the question in a sufficiently casual way and she let go of his shoulders. Two steps behind her Scorpius was staring down at his shoes, looking miserable.

“Not for sure,” she said, and he could hear the sincerity in her voice, “neither of us did.”

Albus glanced between the two of them, the cliff’s edge feeling beginning to rise within him.

“But you both knew that something was wrong with me. You talked about it with each other.”

“On Saturday,” Candy murmured, then, pointedly, “We can go somewhere else to talk about this, if you want.”

“Why?” Albus shot back, not quite shouting but knowing he was being louder than she wanted, “Worried about getting in trouble?”

There was fleeting silence in which Candy’s expression hardened a little, her mouth tensing. The tiniest flicker of her eyes to the left told Albus that she was specifically thinking about Scorpius getting in trouble. Albus clenched his fists at his sides. 

“Well come on then,” he said, turning away from them and walking in the opposite direction. The three of them ended up in the Quidditch trophy hallway, which was mercifully deserted and narrow enough that their voices wouldn’t echo too much. Towards the far end there was a large glass case housing an antique Beater uniform and a racing broom. Once they were hidden behind the case Albus finally rounded on them. During the walk to get there he had tried to cool down, had tried to reason with himself and find a place of charity in his heart for his two best friends. At the very least his breathing had steadied and he no longer felt the desire to shout. He folded his arms across his chest and adopted the most reasonable, mature attitude he could muster.

“So he told you what happened?” he asked Candy, “About the Dark magic and the letters and all that?”

Scorpius was still staring down at the floor and for a moment Albus wished that the other boy would get angry too. There was very little satisfaction in being angry at someone who accepted every blow like a scolded puppy. Candy nodded, supplicative.

“He did, but like I said, we only talked about this four days ago. Ever since we came back from break I thought you seemed…a little off, but not to the point where I thought something seriously bad was happening. It was only in the last week or so that it seemed to get worse, to the point where I began to wonder.”

Albus took a deep breath through his nose, trying to stay calm.

“What do you mean ‘get worse’? What was I doing?”

Candy glanced over her shoulder at Scorpius. Albus was trying as hard as he could to not look at the other boy at all, but out of the corner of his eye he could see Scorpius starting to turn pink.

“You were just...kind of blank," Candy said, "In a good mood, like, all the time, but…blank. And sometimes it was like you forgot what you were supposed to be doing unless someone told you.”

Unbidden, Albus suddenly found himself remembering Scorpius giving him a somewhat strained smile and saying, _Maybe you should brush your teeth?_ This memory was swiftly followed by another, of a lick of flame at the end of Madame Pomfrey’s wand.

“Unless Scorpius told me,” he said, taking an involuntary step backwards, feeling as though he’d been hollowed out by an ice cream scoop. Candy bit the inside of her bottom lip, twisting her fingers together in front of her. Albus swallowed and closed his eyes, shaking his head.

“Did anyone other than you two notice that something was wrong with me? Like, anyone who actually cared?”

Candy opened her mouth to protest this but was interrupted by Scorpius. His voice was small and cracked yet the sound of it silenced Albus and Candy at once.

“Lily did,” he said, “At Candy’s birthday party.”

Albus blinked, trying to keep up with the mad jumble in his head. 

“I remember,” he said, “she was trying to tell me about Christmas, but then…then she was looking at me funny, and she just kind of stopped.”

Scorpius finally looked up at him, their eyes meeting, and Albus was startled by the violence of his reaction to the other boy, his clenched hands starting to ache at his sides. 

“You two went outside together,” Albus went on, “Did she say something to you?”

“Yes,” said Scorpius, as though he was being compelled against his will, “She asked what was wrong with you and I couldn’t tell her the truth. She was planning to tell the Headmistress that I had cursed you and I…I Confunded her.”

For a split second what Scorpius had said didn’t make any sense to Albus, but then his stomach dropped in disbelief as he understood.

“You…you put a spell on my little sister to keep her from telling on you-?” He didn’t realize that he had stepped towards the other boy until Candy put herself between them, her wand out. The anger and sense of betrayal mounting in him was making it difficult to think straight. Scorpius looked as though he was going to start crying again and Albus had never wanted to kick anyone more.

“You sure weren’t brave enough to fess up to that in front of my mum,” he growled, then to Candy, “Are you defending him for that too?”

Candy hadn’t lowered her wand and her expression was grim.

“I didn’t know, but Albus, you know better than anyone the kind of pressure that-” 

Albus laughed out loud, an incredulous, slightly hysterical laugh, and stepped back from the two of them.

“The kind of pressure that _he’s_ been under? You’re damn right I do! _I’m_ the one who’s been standing by him since our first week here! But that doesn’t make it okay for him to hurt my sister!”

“You’re right,” Scorpius said, stepping around Candy, “It wasn’t okay and I hate myself for it, I-”

“Oh bugger _off_ ,” Albus spat, “I just lost _four months_ of my bloody life! My brain keeps telling me that last night was the bonfire and I had all of these crazy dreams, but then I wake up this morning, and-” a sob suddenly choked him and he worked to fight past it, “and it turns out that all of those dreams were actually real. That was actually my life, happening without me. Can you imagine how that feels? Do you get how I don’t give _one toss_ right now about whether or not people think you’re a Dark wizard?”

With no small amount of bitter gratification Albus watched as Scorpius lowered his head again, staggering back a little as though weathering a blow. Albus turned away from them, digging the heels of his hands into his eyes. A second later he felt the barest touch of Candy’s fingertips on his shoulder.

“Albus?”

“You’re going to apologize to Lily,” he said, shaking Candy off and glaring at Scorpius, who was still slouching as though he’d been shot, “You need to tell her exactly what you did and why.”

“I’ll apologize to Lily.”

Their confrontation from that morning had begun to solidify in Albus’ mind and he remembered Scorpius crying and pleading with him. _Did he actually hit me?_ The memory felt like a dream he had had years before, but when he touched his own cheek the skin there still felt tender. _That really happened too_ , he thought, feeling a little dizzy.

“When I say,” Albus said, the forcefulness in his voice helping him to feel more in control, “You’re not talking to her alone.”

Scorpius nodded, his face turned away from them. Candy was watching Albus uncertainly, as though waiting for her own sentence to be delivered. He wanted to be able to devise some kind of punishment for her as well but felt utterly drained; what he wanted more than anything at that moment was to not have to look at either of their faces. He was also, he realized, quite hungry. Without saying another word he walked away from them and back towards the Great Hall. It was only in passing that he noticed the patch of blank wall where the vandalized pictures of Draco Malfoy had finally been removed as though by a giant eraser.

 

Scorpius and Candy were smart enough to keep their distance for the rest of the evening. Albus ate dinner by himself, focusing solely on his plate and mentally willing everyone to stay away from him, which seemed to work because no one sat near him or stopped to talk. _Maybe it hasn’t gotten out yet that I was in Hospital all day._ He maintained this invisible antisocial shield all the way back to the dungeons, where people were engaged in all of their usual weeknight post-dinner activities; studying, talking, playing chess and Gobstones. The common room windowsill was occupied by a sixth-year couple; the girl’s head resting on the boy’s shoulder as she idly buttoned and unbuttoned his cuff with a dreamy smile on her face. 

Albus was beyond relieved to find that Scorpius, Max, Bernard, and Marcus were not in their dormitory and he went straight to his bed, pulling all three of the curtains closed. However, once he was there he had no idea what to do with himself and ended up grabbing his book bag from on top of his dresser, where he had put it the night before so that it would be ready to bring with him to class that morning. 

An idea had taken hold of him which seemed somewhat nonsensical and frantic, but he still felt as though he needed to see something concrete to prove how much time had passed. He went through his bag, pulling out his textbooks and papers and the assignments he had been working on. There were pages of notes in his handwriting, returned papers with high marks and glowing comments from his teachers, underlined passages and annotations in his textbooks, and for almost a full minute he could not remember any of it, his mind beginning to spiral into panic. 

Gradually though, the more he looked at them, the more he could remember, like hearing a familiar song but not being able to remember where he’d heard it before until the details finally clicked into focus. Albus could just remember what he had been planning to add to a half-finished Transfiguration essay, but the idea of four months’ worth of half-remembered assignments and half-remembered classes was starting to make him hyperventilate and he had to put everything away, returning the book bag to his dresser. Desperate for any sliver of distraction or relief he reached under his pillow and was unsurprised to find a book. He blindly opened it to the bookmark and read a full page before he realized that he didn’t recognize the story. The inscription on the inside of the front cover told him that the book had been Aunt Hermione’s gift to him that Christmas. Albus put the book aside, rolled over onto his stomach, pressed his face into his pillow and began to cry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been rereading this whole story this weekend, trying to line up everything in my mind for the ending so that it comes together in a (hopefully) satisfying way. I'm excited to do chapters from Albus' POV again (something I avoided while he was under the spell to underscore his 'absence' from the story. Lol did anyone catch that?), especially giving him back his agency and letting him get angry about things again.


	23. Aftermath, Part Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Albus struggles with what happened and makes a difficult decision.

It wasn’t until he started hearing the others come into the dormitory and begin to get ready for bed that Albus realized what time it was. His hands tightened on the edges of his pillow as he kept himself still and silent, listening for Scorpius. Eventually he heard the familiar rustle of the other boy’s bed curtains, the squeak of his dresser drawers opening and closing as he got out his pajamas, and eventually, finally, the slight creak of wood as the other boy got onto his bed. 

Almost two hours later Albus was finally forced to confront the fact that he was terrified to go to sleep. Unconsciousness seemed to be waiting like a cold indigo ocean behind his eyes, itching to drown him. In spite of every indication that the spell had been broken, Albus couldn’t shake the idea that if he fell asleep, even for five minutes, he would wake up to find that four more months had passed, or longer. He would wake up and discover that he was sixteen and had sat for his OWLs without even knowing it. Every time his eyelids started to slip down they would fly open again, his whole body jerking awake as his heart pounded in his chest. The bottle of Sleep Sweet was sitting above him on the headboard of his bed, but the idea of giving over control to the potion was just as frightening. Finally, miserable beyond endurance and desperate for release after what had felt like an eternity, Albus retrieved the potion and took a swig straight from the bottle. He could feel it start to work immediately and had just enough time to replace the cork and put the bottle safely back on his headboard before he collapsed onto his pillow, fast asleep.

On weekday mornings a prefect would walk through the dungeons ringing a heavy brass bell to wake everyone up, and Albus opened his eyes to the familiar sound. His first thought was one of confusion; he was usually awake and dressed already when the bell rang. In the next moment he remembered his panic before falling asleep and the fear returned to him at once. How would he find out what day it was? _Should I check the dates on my school work again?_ A thought occurred to him, and he hesitated before pulling aside the curtain on his left. 

Scorpius was fully dressed and sitting on the edge of his bed with his hands in his lap, obviously waiting. Their eyes met and Albus saw a flicker of fear in the other boy’s face, along with the same searching look that everyone had given him in the Hospital Wing. Albus clenched his teeth but didn’t say anything. 

“That was yesterday,” Scorpius said quietly, “You didn’t lose any time.”

Albus drew in an uneven breath and swallowed before turning away from Scorpius and getting out of bed. Getting ready was a reasonably painless affair; a number of curious glances were cast his way by people who had apparently noticed his absence the previous day, but Max was the only one who approached to ask if he was alright, and seemed to accept Albus’ heavily abridged explanation. Candy kept her distance after Albus walked past without acknowledging her in the common room. His solitary walk upstairs was mercifully uninterrupted and Albus felt his heart sink when he saw Rose and Lily standing together outside the Great Hall, craning their necks in his direction. Knowing that it couldn’t be avoided, Albus went to them. As soon as he was within reach Lily took hold of his sleeve, her eyes wide with anxiety as she looked up at him.

“Are you okay?”

Albus put an arm around her shoulders and squeezed, doing his best to smile.

“I’m fine, Lils.”

“We heard you were in the hospital all day yesterday,” Rose added, looking equally worried, “that Aunt Ginny and the Headmistress came and Professor Dalca cancelled her classes.”

“They did, yah,” Albus said, his voice sounding unbearably chippy in his own ears, “I was feeling a little off so…so Scorpius came with me to see Madame Pomfrey, and she wasn’t sure what was wrong so she had me stay for observation,” he went on, surprised by how easily the story told itself, “She thought I might have accidentally gotten hit with some kind of Disorientation spell so she called Dalca to see what she thought.”

Neither of the girls looked convinced by this, and for a moment Albus struggled to go on, resentment clotting in his throat.

“Mum was worried because of what had happened on Halloween so she came to make sure everything was okay. It took a little while but Professor Dalca managed to clear the spell up and the Headmistress gave me the rest of the day off to make sure I was all sorted.”

“You’re really okay though?” Lily asked again, and Albus couldn’t help imagining her confrontation with Scorpius, the one Scorpius had made sure she wouldn’t remember. 

“I am, I promise,” he said, hugging her again so she wouldn’t see his face.

“Good,” Rose said, smiling, “we were really worried.”

“I know, thank you.”

 

Scorpius and Candy didn’t approach him that day, or the next. Albus sat alone in class and at meals, and did his homework by himself on his bed in the evening. This new distance between himself and his two best friends didn’t go unnoticed. A whole new round of speculative whispers and stares made its way through the student body and Albus hated it, for the pettiness of the gossip as well as the fact that none of them knew what had really happened, and most likely never would. The impression he had gotten from the Headmistress, Madame Pomfrey, Candy, and even from Professor Dalca was that what had happened to him needed to be kept quiet so that Scorpius’ involvement wouldn’t be exposed. On a practical level Albus understood this. If it became known that Scorpius Malfoy had intentionally done Dark magic resulting in Albus Potter being overtaken by some kind of mind control curse for months on end, the backlash would be so intense that Scorpius would probably have to leave school. The students would tell their parents, and their parents would tell everyone else. The Wizarding world wouldn’t hesitate to fold Scorpius into the toxic swamp of stigmatization and hatred which had already swallowed Draco. 

On a personal level, however, Albus was still angry. The fact that no one seemed willing to punish Scorpius made it feel like what had happened to him didn’t matter. He took the Sleep Sweet potion before going to bed each night without a moment’s hesitation, and was beginning to feel nervous about what would happen when the bottle was empty. Every class felt like a high stakes exam he hadn’t studied for, and the process of remembering lessons was lengthy and difficult, as though he was translating all of the information from another language. He had been spending a great deal of time skimming back through the chapters in his textbooks and rereading the notes he had taken on them. After class on Friday Professor Devereaux gently pulled him aside to ask if Albus was struggling to remember what was going on in his classes and to offer support. Startled that Devereaux knew what had really happened, Albus promptly lied. He found himself seeking solitude in a way he never had before. People would come up and ask him questions about assignments they had had, or try to talk to him about things he couldn’t remember. When this happened Albus would either play along or stall until his memory of what they were talking about began to come back. As with remembering dreams, details could suddenly spring forward, crisp and clear, or the entire thing could be lost in an ephemeral cloud, leaving him with nothing. 

The worst part was Scorpius. More and more he was able to remember their Christmas holiday together; listening to him play the piano, flying school brooms over the lake, waking up next to him in their blanket fort and reading together. The sweetness of the memories turned sour like bad milk in his mouth as soon as he found himself savoring them, polluted by the spell like everything else. In the Hospital Wing Scorpius had said that he noticed something was wrong in _December_. Every time Albus thought about it he felt as though he’d crested the summit of a roller coaster and was just beginning to free-fall down the other side, his heart pounding with disbelief and betrayal. Scorpius had been selfish, unequivocally so, and Albus was ashamed of the voice in his head which stubbornly persisted in defending the other boy. It made him feel as though the spell hadn’t fully broken, as though he was still a humiliating caricature of himself, trotting along at Scorpius’ heels. In that respect, if he was being honest, Albus was grateful that he couldn’t remember everything. 

On Saturday afternoon he joined a handful of Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws who were completing a Trials task for Herbology in the main greenhouse. The task consisted of pruning large clay pots of cat fern, a temperamental plant which required a great deal of special attention, from precisely measured soil components to the tiny silver scissors they had to use for pruning. Any incorrect action, movement or sound would result in lashing barbed fronds which frequently drew blood. Professor Longbottom had put a large plastic dispenser of antibiotic ointment in the middle of the work table, which was being liberally applied to scratched hands and arms. Albus had discovered that he was well-suited to cat ferns and found the work oddly cathartic, listening to the whispery purring of his plant as he trimmed away its dead leaves. The greenhouse had been warmed to an almost tropical level due to the cold front brought in by a storm during the night. Everyone had taken off their robes and rolled up their sleeves, the glass panes of the walls and roof white with steam, and when he had completed the task Albus was reluctant to leave. The unpleasantness of stepping out into the bitter cold was increased by the fact that James was coming down the path towards him from the castle. 

Even as his heart sank in anticipation of the meeting, Albus stopped and waited for James to reach him. The way his brother’s eyebrows were slightly furrowed told Albus that he was concerned about something, but he managed to give Albus an awkward smile once he’d come to a stop. James was handsome in an infuriating way, tall and athletic with his dark auburn hair and bright blue eyes. Albus had always felt scrawny and pale in comparison.

“Hey Al.”

“Hey.” 

Out of habit Albus was bracing himself for a confrontation, and the banality of their greetings struck him as somewhat absurd. 

“Everything okay?” James asked.

Albus lifted his chin.

“Why wouldn’t it be?”

“I just, I noticed that you haven’t been hanging around with Malfoy and Briar the last couple of days, so I-”

“So you wanted to invite me out for Butterbeers to celebrate?” Albus interrupted, the antagonism almost as reflexive as breathing. James stared at him for a moment, the urge to retaliate flickering in his eyes.

“I just wanted to make sure everything was okay,” he said evenly.

Albus tightened his grip on the strap of his book bag, debating with himself. 

“We had a fight,” he said.

James nodded attentively. Again Albus felt himself shift into a defensive attitude, knowing that his brother assumed Scorpius was in the wrong. _Except that this time he actually was,_ Albus thought, and it occurred to him suddenly that there was one person who would want justice for what had happened to him even more than he did. The real reason his brother had come looking for him was to find out whether or not Albus had been hurt so that he could exact revenge on whoever was responsible. _You were right,_ Albus thought, _I shouldn’t have trusted Scorpius the way I did._

“What about?” James asked, trying to sound casual.

Albus could practically feel the words he’d been desperate to say pushing against the inside of his mouth, his blood rising, when he was brought up short by a memory as vivid and biting as acid. He and Scorpius had been standing at one of the sinks in the lavatory, Scorpius wincing in pain as Albus tried to clean his bleeding face. Albus’ heart sank. That beating would be nothing compared to what would happen to Scorpius if everyone found out what he’d done. 

_I love him,_ Albus thought. _The spell didn’t create that._

“It wasn’t anyone’s fault,” he said quietly, “but we’re just taking some time to cool off anyway.”

“Okay,” James said after a moment and Albus looked up at him in surprise. Even though James didn’t look convinced in the slightest, his arms folded across his chest, Albus realized that his brother was never going to make a move against Scorpius if Albus didn’t want him to. The gratitude he felt was uncomfortable, deeply foreign, and yet- 

“James?” 

“Yah?” 

Albus opened his mouth, paused, and then shook his head.

“Nothing, never mind.”

They stood together in awkward silence for a moment before James started to turn away, indicating the castle with his thumb.

“Were you on your way back?”

“Yah.”

“I can walk with you, if that’s cool.”

“Okay,” Albus said, hoisting his book bag higher onto his shoulder, and they walked back to Hogwarts together in silence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This totally should have been part of Chapter 23 (it feels a little short by itself) but whatever, onward!


	24. Gilgamesh & Enkidu

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A new threat is made against Scorpius and he decides to talk to Albus.

_I wouldn’t mind being a bird,_ Scorpius thought, closing his eyes as he listened to the hawks and owls in their nests. It was Sunday morning and even though Falconry had been over for almost an hour, he hadn’t been able to bring himself to return to the castle. Instead he’d been sitting on the floor of the owlery, completely indifferent to the cleanliness of his surroundings. The fresh air cupped its cold hands around his brain with each inhalation and it had started to rain, the drops ricocheting off of the openings in the tower and hitting the back of his head. It could be a peaceful life, he supposed, living in the silence of forests and moors, free to fly and be alone, single-minded in pursuit of survival. His thoughts began to drift as sleep pulled at him and Scorpius welcomed it, relaxing into the warmth of his winter cloak.

The four nights since Albus had come out of the spell had been the most sleepless of Scorpius’ life. If empathically connecting to his father had left him feeling scarred, connecting to Albus in the Quidditch hallway had left him feeling skinned. It had been worse than anything else that had happened that day; worse than the revelation of Astoria’s betrayal, worse than Albus’ bewitchment, worse than telling the truth, and worse than facing Albus’ anger afterwards. On Wednesday night he’d been able to feel the other boy’s panic as though it was music blaring in his ears until finally, at almost three in the morning, the agony ceased when Albus fell asleep. Scorpius, on the other hand, had stayed awake much later.

An ice cold raindrop landed in the center of his forehead and ran down the side of his nose, making him open his eyes and groan. The rain was picking up and he knew it was time to go inside. His joints stiff from sitting so long against the hard stones, Scorpius collected his hawking equipment and got to his feet, pulling his hood up over his head as he headed out into the rain. Halfway down the tower stairs movement in the corner of his eye made him look up. Three boys were making their way across the patchy brown grass towards the owlery. The slim hope that they weren’t there for him disintegrated as they adjusted their course to intercept him on the path and Scorpius drew his wand, weighing his options.

They were sixth-year Slytherins, openly wearing their school robes and green House scarves so that there would be no ambiguity in the confrontation. Scorpius recognized the tallest of them as a Beater on the Quidditch team. The three of them were blocking his path, their wands out, forcing him to come to a stop. The Beater (Scorpius thought his name was Wendell) stepped forward in front of the others, his jaw set in a hard, confident line.

“We wanted to talk to you, Malfoy.”

“Looking forward to it,” Scorpius said, raising his voice to be heard over the rain. The other two boys exchanged a glance at his response and Scorpius took a deep breath, tightening the grip on his wand. _Just get it over with._ Wendell didn’t look amused.

“We think it would be a good idea if you didn’t come back to Hogwarts next year.”

In spite of himself Scorpius was caught off guard by this, and a pithy retort was not forthcoming.

“Why?” 

One of the other boys, who was stockier with dirty blonde hair and mean eyes, answered.

“The last thing we need is a poncey little Deb making us all look bad.”

“We know you’re into Dark shit, just like that poofter dad of yours,” Wendell went on, “There’s no room for your kind here anymore.”

Scorpius looked between the three of them, wondering when the violence was going to start and what they had in mind. He didn’t know how to Disapparate and knew that he wasn’t fast enough to hit all three of them without getting fired upon. Resignation settled over him. _No matter what they do to me, it won’t be any worse than Wednesday._

“What happens if I do come back?”

“That’s what we’re here to give you a preview of,” Wendell said, cocking his head to the side so that his neck cracked.

Scorpius nodded, bracing himself for pain, when the blonde boy suddenly smacked his companion, his mouth falling open as he looked at something over Scorpius’ shoulder. Wendell’s gaze followed and his eyes widened. Scorpius turned to see Brigid perched on top of a large rock just behind him, the remains of what looked like a pine marten held fast in her claws, its blood smeared on her beak and breast feathers. 

A piercing whistle which Scorpius recognized immediately cut through the rain as Edmund loped into view from the other side of the owlery, catching sight of his eagle and coming over to her. He was still wearing his Falconry gear and blinked the rain out of his eyes, a frown settling over his face as he looked from the sixth-years to Scorpius.

“Everything okay?” he asked.

“This doesn’t concern you,” Wendell said, recovering his authoritative tone and taking a step forward even though he and Edmund were the same height. Brigid let out a prehistoric screech and opened her wings, beating them in the rain as the three older boys jumped in alarm. There was an answering call from the owlery and Albus swooped down out of the tower, much smaller but no less aggressive as he descended towards them, claws open.

“No!” Scorpius called, whistling sharply and pulling on his glove again. Albus landed on it, but his feathers were bristling in Wendell’s direction.

“You should go back to the castle,” Edmund said to the older boys, as calmly as if they’d asked him for directions. Wendell looked from Edmund to Brigid, his two companions already backing away, before glaring at Scorpius.

“Remember what we said.”

He turned and followed the other two in retreat. Scorpius and Edmund watched them go, the persistent cadence of rain accompanied by the sound of cracking sinews as Brigid continued to tear apart her kill. Albus went to perch next to her and received a begrudging squawk when he ripped off a piece for himself.

“Thanks,” Scorpius said to Edmund, “I didn’t deserve that, but thanks.”

“What do you mean?”

“Nothing,” he muttered, putting his wand back into his pocket. He could feel Edmund watching him.

“Were they going to hurt you?”

Scorpius nodded, feeling again how much Albus had wanted to hurt him. _He should have._

“I’ll walk you back to the castle.”

Too tired to refuse this offer, Scorpius thanked Edmund again and followed him back to Hogwarts.

 

It was late enough by the time he reached the dungeons that most of his housemates had dispersed for the day and his dormitory was empty. Scorpius knelt on the stone floor and put his hawking equipment back in the case underneath his unmade bed. As he was about to get up he noticed the small hard corner of an object edging out from between his mattress and box spring. It was a thin paperback book, Albus’ copy of _The Epic of Gilgamesh_. Scorpius blinked in surprise and opened the book, his heart turning over as he saw Albus’ handwritten notes in the margins and the sections he had underlined in different colors of ballpoint pen. Bewildered as to how it had ended up under his mattress, Scorpius sat back against his dresser, turning the pages. 

The notes Albus had made to himself seemed to largely consist of commenting on how much he enjoyed a particular line or word, or asking questions about the plot and characters. Scorpius remembered the general idea of the poem from the bits that Albus had read out loud to him; Gilgamesh and his friend Enkidu were warriors who had angered the gods, defeating demons and great beasts, and the gods had decided that one of the friends should die as punishment. Enkidu was chosen and began to die a slow and agonizing death, telling Gilgamesh about his glimpses of the land of the dead. 

_‘Listen, my friend, this is the dream I dreamed last night. The heavens roared, and the earth rumbled back an answer; between them stood I before an awful being, the sombre-faced man-bird; he had directed on me his purpose. His was a vampire face, his foot was a lion’s foot, his hand was an eagle’s talon. He fell on me and his claws were in my hair, he held me fast and I smothered; then he transformed me so that my arms became wings covered with feathers. He turned his stare towards me, and led me to the palace of Irkalla, the Queen of Darkness, to the house from which none who enters ever returns, down the road from which there is no coming back.'_

Scorpius shivered and read the passage again, his hands trembling slightly as he remembered the nightmare image of black feathers piercing out from Albus’ arms. He remembered Albus inviting him into his bed and how easily the other boy had fallen back asleep lying next to him. It was impossible to think that Albus would ever trust him again as he had that night, and having been inside his head, inside his heart, Scorpius couldn’t blame him. With perfect clarity the next five years at Hogwarts presented themselves to him; he and Albus would avoid each other and maintain their silence until the question of whether or not they would ever speak again evaporated and became an unalterable fact. Candy would choose one or neither of them and Albus would make new friends, would have no shortage of friends. They would graduate from Hogwarts and never see each other again, and Scorpius would slowly turn into Draco, the metamorphosis inevitable as sunset.

He closed his eyes, simultaneously consumed by self-pity and self-loathing, until another option flickered to life like a firefly in the darkness. 

_I don’t want to just assume that he never wants to speak to me again._

If his and Albus’ friendship was truly over he would rather have it stated definitively between them. With a sudden rush of resolve Scorpius took off his heavy cloak and robes and left the dormitory, clutching the book in his hand. 

Knowing that Albus wasn’t in the common room, Scorpius left the dungeons and headed for the Great Hall. There was no sign of the other boy at the Slytherin table, but Candy and Nerys were there eating cinnamon rolls with Claudette, books open around them in what appeared to be a study brunch. Ignoring his own reluctance, Scorpius went over to them, nodding politely to the other two girls when they looked up at him.

“Sorry to interrupt,” he looked to Candy, “Have you seen Albus?”

There was an immediate spark of interest in her eyes. In the wake of Albus’ rejection they’d barely spoken to each other; Scorpius had gotten the impression that while Candy regretted the whole affair she wasn’t particularly interested in his self-flagellation. 

“He was finishing up when Nerys and I got here,” she glanced at the book in Scorpius’ hand, “He had his school bag with him.”

“Thank you.”

“Good luck,” Nerys added, giving him an encouraging little smile. Scorpius awkwardly returned the smile and nodded, turning away before they could see him blush and left the Great Hall. 

The next logical place to check was the library, but Madame Sylvestra said that she hadn’t seen him come in. Scorpius leaned back dejectedly against the wall just outside the heavy library doors, thinking. Their paths would cross eventually, they slept less than ten feet away from each other every night, but for some reason the conviction had taken hold that if he didn’t find Albus now he never would. Feeling less guilt than he would have expected under the circumstances, Scorpius turned his Sight towards Albus. The lingering impression of the other boy’s mind stung painfully, hot to the touch like sunburn, but as Scorpius opened himself to it he felt an answering pulse, like an echo in the distance. Scorpius smiled. It had been an experiment, drawn from an idea which _Map of the Empath_ discussed in highly poetic terms, and he couldn’t deny a thrill of excitement that it might have actually worked. Doing his best to keep his Sight open and follow the echo, Scorpius began walking and found each step more certain than the last, as though he’d found a line of footprints in the snow. As soon as the trail brought him to the northeast side of the third floor he knew where Albus was and his heart began to beat faster.

Aside from the piano, the largest piece of serviceable furniture in the secret wing was a blocky wooden table in one of the side rooms which they had dragged over to a window the year before. Albus was sitting at the table with his books and papers scattered over its surface, the state of the room making him look like a scholar living rough in a post-apocalyptic world, and the expression on his face as he regarded Scorpius standing in the doorway was complicated but not surprised. Scorpius swallowed and came forward, holding out the book once he was within reach of the table.

“I found this under my mattress, and I wanted to return it.”

Albus blinked and held out his hand for the book, taking it from Scorpius with a slight frown.

“You could have left it on my dresser or something.”

“Right,” Scorpius said, the determination which had propelled him to this point beginning to crumble. “Sorry…I’ll leave you alone.”

Albus looked up at him.

“Actually, if you’re not busy, I was wondering if we could talk.”

An irresistible moonbeam of hope appeared in Scorpius’ mind and he did his best to act calm.

“I’m not busy.”

With a slight movement of his head Albus indicated a second chair which had been pulled up to the other side of the table, and it suddenly occurred to Scorpius that the other boy might have been planning for this meeting. After all, of all the places where he could have hidden himself, he’d chosen the one part of the castle where only Scorpius could find him. Feeling a little unsteady, Scorpius sat down on the proffered chair.

“How did this end up under your mattress?” Albus asked after a moment, the corner of his mouth twitching in amusement as he looked down at the book in his hands.

“Maybe when we were taking apart the blanket fort?”

Albus nodded, his almost-smile fading.

“I didn’t even notice it was missing.”

“You do have a lot of books,” Scorpius said, certain that he was pushing his luck, “it’s probably easy to lose track of them.”

There was a brief but fraught silence.

“It is sometimes,” Albus said, and then he laid the book down on the table and looked up at Scorpius, his hands folded together in front of him.

“I’m sorry for what I said to you on Wednesday.”

“You don’t have to apologize for anything,” Scorpius said at once, shaking his head.

“I know I don’t have to,” Albus countered, an edge in his voice, and Scorpius shut his mouth. “I care what people think of you, and I don’t want to see you get hurt.”

Scorpius lowered his head. Albus was going to forgive him and he couldn’t quite believe it.

“Thank you,” he murmured, “I don’t want you to get hurt either.”

It was still bitterly cold outside and the ancient windows of the secret wing offered almost no defense whatsoever from the wind. Albus was wearing a scarf and fingerless gloves, a thoughtful crease appearing between his eyebrows as he watched Scorpius.

“I know,” he said finally, “I remember your boggart, during our DADA exam. At least I think I remember it.”

“You do,” Scorpius said, “I should have known then, about my mother. I think-I think part of me must have…but I kept making excuses and trying to talk myself away from it.”

“She’s your mum,” Albus said, “I would have done the same thing.”

Scorpius took a deep breath. There was one last confession he had to make, and Albus was the only person he could imagine making it to.

“The thing is…I know what she did was wrong, but what she said in her letters…didn’t seem evil. It actually…made sense to me.”

“What did she say?” Albus asked. Scorpius glanced up at him and the doubt must have shown on his face because Albus raised an eyebrow. “I’m not under your thrall anymore, remember? You can tell me.”

So he did, everything that he could remember. Albus listened, taking it all in stride and silently encouraging Scorpius to go on when he faltered. Scorpius finished by describing the final letter and the instructions for completing the spell, along with his decision to turn the letters over to the Ministry. Once he had finally finished there was a long silence between them.

“You’re right,” Albus said finally, “it doesn’t really sound evil…but if it’s so good, why would she need to use magic to make you believe it?”

“I don’t know,” Scorpius said, feeling lighter and more rested than he had in months, “The crazy thing is…if she had just written the letters and hadn’t done the spell, if you hadn’t gotten caught in the middle, I think I would have ended up believing her like she wanted me to in the first place.”

Albus considered this, a mixture of uneasiness and sympathy in his bright green eyes. It was almost midday and even though the rain had stopped the sky beyond the window was still overcast, just light enough for Scorpius to see the pale freckles scattered across the other boy’s nose. 

“That doesn’t make you a Dark wizard, you know.”

“It doesn’t make me a good one either.”

The slight frown between Albus’ eyebrows deepened.

“It makes you a person,” he said, “Just like anyone else.”

There was a constricted, breathless ache in Scorpius’ chest suddenly, and the feeling was so powerful and strange that for a moment he didn’t recognize it as love. 

“What about Lily?” he heard himself ask.

Albus’ expression hardened at once and it was clear that he bit back his initial reply. 

“We’re still going to tell her together,” he said, “and if she decides that she wants to tell someone what you did neither of us is going to stop her.” 

Scorpius nodded, weighing his next question.

“Are you okay?”

Out of the corner of his eye he could see Albus watching him and sensed a change in the other boy’s attitude. It was vulnerable and hesitant, as though he was about to give in to something he’d been resisting.

“Not really,” Albus said, “but I’m not under the spell, and I’m not dead, so…it could be worse, I guess.”

Tears began to rise in Scorpius’ throat and he swallowed hard.

“If there’s anything I can do, I…I’ll do anything.”

This offer made, Scorpius waited, holding his breath under the other boy’s gaze.

“Help me study for finals?” Albus asked, “When the time comes?”

“Of course. As much as you want.”

Silence fell between them and Albus picked up his book again, considering the cover, which featured an ancient stone relief of a warrior battling what looked like chimeras. 

“Have you read this? On your own, I mean?”

Scorpius blinked at the abrupt change of topic but couldn’t deny that he was relieved.

“I skimmed through a little bit when I found it.”

“What do you think?”

A smile was hovering over Albus’ face and Scorpius felt himself pull towards it like a plant to the sun.

“I like it. I don’t know if it’s just the translation, but the poetry doesn’t feel as old as it actually is.”

“Right?” Albus leaned forward a little, his eyes lighting up with enthusiasm, “Which is crazy, cuz it’s like the oldest piece of Western literature anyone’s found,” he turned the pages with a particular reverence which Scorpius had only ever seen him show towards books. "That’s what’s so cool about it to me. Someone thousands of years ago thought this story was important enough that they carved it into _stone_ , like, can you imagine?”

He looked up at Scorpius, openly grinning now, and the gratitude Scorpius felt was making it difficult to breathe. The fact that he was sitting across from Albus, listening to him talk about poetry as though nothing awful had happened between them, felt like a gift so extravagant that it couldn’t be real.

“I can’t,” he managed, feeling supremely ineloquent. 

They held each other’s gaze for a moment before Albus passed the book to him.

“Here, I want you to have it.”

Scorpius took the book, confused.

“Why?”

Albus’ smile softened.

“Because you did the right thing, even if you went about it in a really stupid way.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrestled HARD with this chapter. There were just so many things that Albus and Scorpius could say to each other in this Very Important Conversation, and it was a struggle to focus on A.) what felt the most significant without B.) rehashing things that had already been covered, in a way that C.) felt natural as dialogue between them. There are still some unaddressed plot points/questions to be answered, and there was a temptation to turn this into one of those classic Harry Potter scenes where The Plot Is Explained, but it didn't feel right for this moment, not to mention the fact that Albus and Scorpius don't have access to a lot of the information. I'm hoping to take care of that by spreading it out over a couple upcoming chapters with other characters helping out.


	25. A Question of Trust

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> McGonagall, Dalca, and Robins discuss Scorpius' future at Hogwarts.

The air in the Headmistress’ office was heavy and dark somehow, even though it was bright daylight outside. The portraits of Headmasters and mistresses past were quiescent, most of their subjects dozing comfortably in their large velvet and leather-backed chairs. Minerva was sitting at her desk while Lucy sat in a chair across from her and Dalca stood at attention nearby, each of them silently reading their copy of the report. The final document combined their individual accounts of what they had experienced with Scorpius that school year, as well as Dalca’s findings from the Halloween investigation. As Lucy reached the end of the parchment she felt a kind of grim capacity rising within her, as though she was selecting a weapon for battle.

“Now that we’re all on the same page,” Minerva said, “what are your thoughts?”

“How was Astoria’s spell supposed to work originally?” Lucy asked, scanning the document for Dalca’s description.

Dalca stood up a little straighter and Lucy briefly wondered what the other woman had against sitting.

“We have had a lot of guesswork from little evidence, but our idea is that ingredients specifically crafted for Malfoy were added to the bonfire to be spread in the smoke, causing a kind of hypnosis. Potter said he was drawn to the clearing, to the tree, and the candle we found at the base of the tree would seem to support this.”

“A focal point,” Minerva murmured, and Dalca nodded at her before continuing.

“Yes. Malfoy was to approach the candle and be held in place by the spell around it, possibly losing consciousness as Potter did,” the corners of her mouth turned down in distaste, “A crude, parasitic spellwork.” 

“And he was supposed to, what? Be laid out in the clearing like that until someone came looking for him?” Lucy asked. 

“That would seem to be the case. Once awake he would appear to be normal, but-”

“Malleable,” Lucy said, half to herself, “so that he would believe what she was telling him without question.”

Dalca nodded, her expression earnest.

“From Mr. Potter’s summary of the last letter, I think Malfoy’s blood was intended to seal the information he’d been given into his mind, then he is breaking the candle, the focal point, in half. My theory is that this would have broken the spell, calling him back to himself.”

“The way that Albus woke up in the Hospital Wing,” Minerva said.

“And we still don’t know how that happened, correct?” Lucy asked, looking between them. A rare moment of uncertainty flickered across Dalca’s face as she shook her head.

“We barely understand the parts of the spell, we haven’t even begun solving why it worked, so I can’t…I can’t _fathom_ how it was broken, or who could have done it.”

This idea sat ominously between them for a moment before Minerva placed her reading glasses on her nose and squinted down at the parchment in her hand.

“There was a suggestion…that the herbs in the bonfire may have been intended to heighten psychic intuition,” she looked to Lucy, “is it possible that Scorpius wasn’t affected by the smoke because his own ability cancelled out the spell?”

“There is precedent for that. Certain kinds of magic can be less effective against psychics. To be honest,” she hesitated, “I think it more likely that his mind resisted the hypnosis because of the dream he’d had.”

It was a topic she felt reluctant to talk about. The Headmistress had observed her last training session with Scorpius, and Lucy knew that the boy had felt pressured to disclose something he would have preferred to keep private. Out of the corner of her eye Lucy saw Dalca shift slightly and sensed that the other woman was going to have something to say on the matter. McGonagall sat back in her chair, absentmindedly tapping an arpeggio on its arm with her fingertips.

“Which still doesn’t explain why the spell worked on Potter. That seems to have been completely unintended by Astoria.”

Lucy folded her hands in her lap, saying nothing. 

“The addition of Malfoy’s blood at that point was also unintended,” Dalca said, “The spell made Potter susceptible to influence, and the blood… _fixed_ Malfoy as that primary influence, to direct Potter as he wished.” She paused, as though steeling herself. “Are we entirely sure that he should be at this school?”

The Headmistress looked up at her sharply. Lucy, who had been anticipating this, took a deep breath.

“We can’t do that,” she said.

Dalca frowned. 

“He successfully performed powerful blood magic while barely being aware of what he was doing or why it was so dangerous.”

“Taught to him by his mother in what seems to have been the most cavalier manner possible,” Minerva sighed, “Merlin knows if the bloody woman even understood the full power and applications of the spell herself. The mind reels.”

“But he clearly understands now that blood magic isn’t acceptable here,” Lucy added quickly, “and his faith in Astoria has been lost; he won’t be so quick to try whatever else she may have taught him.”

The Headmistress nodded, considering this before looking back to Dalca.

“There’s also the matter of his boggart, Amalia, which you witnessed firsthand. It would seem that he’s fully aware of the danger her ideas pose,” she was quiet for a moment, her gaze becoming distant, “Expelling him would only reinforce the idea that we think he’s dangerous, or that we’re prepared to blame him at the first sign of trouble.”

_Not to mention the fact that it wouldn’t just be his life affected,_ Lucy thought. 

Dalca looked between them with the slightly incredulous anxiety of someone who realizes that their position is weakening.

“At the very least he needs to be registered with the Ministry.”

In spite of herself, Lucy was surprised by this.

“He’s not required to register until he comes of age.”

Dalca rolled her eyes in derision.

“That law was hard fought for,” Lucy went on, failing to keep the indignation from her voice, “It protects underage physics and born animagi from exploitation. We can’t coerce him into signing away his privacy like that.”

“Did you not read your own report?” Dalca replied, her unflappable calm finally slipping, “What you are describing of his empathic ability is like nothing I’ve ever heard of, and less than two years into training. The Ministry needs to know that such a weapon exists.”

Lucy blinked, shocked.

“He’s not a _weapon-_ ” 

“Lucy, Amalia,” Minerva interrupted, her tone firm as she looked between them, “You’re both correct. The situation is uniquely serious, but we can’t lose sight of the fact that we’re discussing a twelve-year-old child.”

The line of Dalca’s mouth thinned, her impatience clear.

“I apologize, Headmistress. What I am trying to say is that if the boy were to be radicalized he could be persuaded to do a great deal of harm. You don’t know these kinds of people like I do. They are expert at getting into the heads of others and making converts who do anything for their cause,” her voice lowered, a haunted light in her eyes, “I have seen it, over and over again.”

Lucy looked away guiltily. She’d had enough glimpses into the other woman’s mind to understand. 

McGonagall nodded to Dalca, her expression uncharacteristically gentle, before turning to Lucy with austere diplomacy.

“Do you feel that Scorpius is in danger of this?”

“No, I don’t.”

The swiftness of her response was clearly something neither of them had been expecting and their skeptical frowns were almost identical.

“Why do you say that?” Dalca asked. Lucy hesitated, struggling to describe her conviction, which was little more than gut instinct. 

“I don’t know that I can explain it. You’re talking about him as though tomorrow he could go rogue and start mind controlling everyone in the castle like a human virus, but that’s not who he is. Scorpius has always been profoundly aware of the ethics of Second Sight, especially considering how young and inexperienced he is,” she shook her head, “If there was one thing, one gift I could wish for someone like Scorpius, someone so…primed for darkness, it would be empathy, so that he not only has power but feels its consequences in the lives of others. I…I believe in him.”

Dalca’s expression was still grim but Lucy could tell that her words had not been dismissed. Both of them turned to the Headmistress, silently waiting for her decision. She wasn’t looking at them; her gaze had grown distant again, contemplating the sunbeam coming in through the nearest window.

“Scorpius stays at Hogwarts,” she said finally, “We can’t force him to register with the Ministry but I want the choice explained and presented to him. We’ll strengthen our security measures in Hogsmeade and along the borders of the school grounds in addition to whatever action Harry recommends.”

Relieved, Lucy closed her eyes for a moment.

“It is a risk,” Dalca said, addressing the floor.

McGonagall looked up at the younger woman with a combination of sympathy and weariness.

“It always is, but the most we can ever do is point our students in the right direction. Ultimately the choice is theirs, and we can only trust that they’ll make the right one.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter that feels too short by itself but I want to feel like I'm making progress over here. As with the previous chapter I struggled against exposition overload and it's still pretty rough, but I enjoyed bringing these three characters together and thinking about their individual perspectives.


	26. Awards and Separations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Albus turns thirteen, the school year comes to an end (as do the Scholar's Trials), and the kids head back home.

When Scorpius told Albus about his empathic connection the day the spell broke, it was clear that he expected him to feel betrayed all over again, and if it had been anyone else perhaps Albus would have. However, he had surprised both of them by feeling exactly the opposite. The comfort of being known, being _seen_ , by Scorpius was profound. It almost made Albus feel greedy, but Scorpius denied him nothing each time Albus wordlessly asked for this reassurance, and lately he had been asking a lot. The arrival of his thirteenth birthday made him feel as though all of the progress he’d made since March was in danger of unravelling. It didn’t help that Hagrid was throwing him a party, and for what felt like the hundredth time that week, Albus glanced over at Scorpius until the other boy looked up and smiled at him. He, Scorpius and Candy were on their way to Hagrid’s cabin, navigating through wet grass and unpredictable patches of sucking mud. Rain waited in the darkening clouds and each time a chilly wind whipped around them Albus used it as an excuse to lean into Scorpius a little, savoring the way the other boy leaned back into him.

The party ended up feeling like an unsettling echo of the one Hagrid had thrown for Candy, from what Albus had begun to think of as his ‘dream life’. Rose, Lily and Hugo were there along with James who, though quiet and obviously uncomfortable, was managing to be civil even if he didn’t say a word to Scorpius. Albus found that he had never been more willing to shrug off his brother’s behavior, grateful for the unexpected truce which seemed to have been struck between them. For his part Scorpius seemed just as uncomfortable, but Albus knew that this had as much to do with Lily as with James. Towards the end of the party Candy helped concoct an opportunity for Albus and Scorpius to accompany Lily out into the garden. The freshly tilled soil was dense as pound cake, ready to birth Hagrid’s sunflowers and tomatoes. Bumper was nestled against the wall of the cabin, ecstatically devouring the mound of kitchen scraps they had dumped out for her. Albus could sense Scorpius’ anxiety as the three of them watched the rabbit in companionable silence.

“Hey Lils,” he said finally, his heart pounding, “Scorpius and I actually have something we want to talk to you about, if that’s okay?”

“Sure,” she said, looking between them expectantly. Albus and Scorpius exchanged a glance and Scorpius took a deep breath before he began. They had worked out a plan for what they would tell her but it was still difficult to circumvent so much of the truth. Albus had decided it was best to tell her as little as possible about Astoria’s involvement in the whole thing, so the story they presented was that the spell Scorpius had done on Halloween to free Albus accidentally backfired (technically not a lie) and that he had Confunded her out of fear that everyone would think he was a Dark wizard (also not a lie). 

Lily absorbed what they were saying, and as Albus tried to read the subtle shifts of emotion in her face he couldn’t deny that he was nervous. She had every right to be furious and part of Albus was still angry on her behalf, but it was difficult for him to listen to the shame and self-disgust in Scorpius’ voice as he made his apology. What would Albus do if she insisted on telling everyone? Or if she demanded that he turn his back on Scorpius in recompense? Once Scorpius had finished Lily stood with her arms folded, looking deep in thought as she stared at the ground between them.

“As soon as I found out about all of this I told Scorpius that we were going to come clean to you,” Albus said, “Whatever you want to do now is okay, alright?”

Lily’s eyes flicked up to Scorpius, who swallowed.

“No matter what, Lily,” he said, his voice wavering a little, “I swear that I will never do something like that to you or to anyone else, ever again.”

She stared at him for a long moment, her eyes the color of cornflowers in the overcast light, then held out her hand.

“Fine.”

Scorpius blinked as though he didn’t understand what she had said but held out his hand at once.

“Are you sure?” Albus asked Lily quietly. She let go of Scorpius’ hand and turned to him, raising her eyebrows in challenge.

“Do you want me to change my mind?”

Albus smiled and shook his head.

“Thank you, Lils.”

“Thank you,” Scorpius echoed.

She gave both of them a small smile, but when Albus stepped forward to hug her she drew back, crossing her arms over her chest, suddenly businesslike.

“Was there anything else?”

They shook their heads in unison.

“We should probably get back inside then before it starts raining again.”

 

After the icy, gloomy winter, spring came to Hogwarts like a gift made of water and sweet-smelling air. Trees erupted overnight with pink and purple blossoms the size of teacups, and flowering vines claimed courtyard after courtyard. Crushed handfuls of glossy new yellow-green leaves budded open and each gust of warm wind made petals rain, bunching up in browning drifts along the castle walls. The giddy delirium of graceful weather made it difficult to focus on the rapidly approaching end of term. Even some of the professors seemed to be losing focus, relocating their classes outdoors at every opportunity and dismissing a few minutes early on particularly beautiful days. 

For his part Albus had abandoned the last of his reservations when it came to forgiving Scorpius and Candy. Although he hated to admit it, there was a part of his brain which spoke to him in James’ voice, encouraging caution and critiquing his self-respect, but Albus couldn’t imagine life at Hogwarts without his friends’ support and camaraderie. Along with studying, homework, and Trials tasks, every so often he would accompany Scorpius when he took Albird out hunting, sticking close to the castle as per the Headmistress’ orders. They had also resumed his piano lessons in the Secret Wing and were both pleasantly surprised to discover that Albus was a relatively capable musician. 

Candy was increasingly absent as May advanced. If she wasn’t in the library studying, or in the Slytherin common room studying, then she was at a tutoring session with Devereaux, or meeting with her study group, or studying with Claudette and Nerys. With their final exams coming up she was still somehow trying to complete practical tasks for the Scholar’s Trials, which most students seemed to have abandoned as the pressure of all their regular schoolwork escalated. In fact, by the time June arrived Candy had actually exhausted the Practical Tasks list on every single one of her Trials guides, an incredible feat which Albus and Scorpius doubted had been replicated by anyone else in the school.

For the first time since coming to Hogwarts, Albus was genuinely nervous about how his final marks were going to come out. He had been doing his best to remember and review and memorize and cram, but it still felt as though he had been called on in the middle of a play to step in for the lead performer, with only a vague idea of what the story was. Falling asleep was still difficult sometimes, but he took pride in the fact that he hadn’t gone back to Madame Pomfrey for another bottle of Sleep Swell. Through it all Scorpius was steadfast to a fault, investing as much in Albus’ school work as he did in his own, maybe more. To Albus’ relief, most of the baleful attention which had been focused on Scorpius drifted away as people became distracted by other things, allowing them a certain degree of anonymity once more. Albus no longer felt the same level of tension and unease from their professors, with the exception of Dalca, but he supposed that was to be expected. 

The week of final exams seemed far more intense to Albus than it had the year before; students from every year in every House seemed to be fraying around the edges, and Candy wondered aloud if this extra stress was due to the Scholar’s Trials. In spite of the lofty goals Albus had set for himself at the beginning of the school year he’d been forced to give up on the Trials after coming out of the spell, but reminded himself that he could always try again the following year. Robins offered group meditation sessions for anyone who wanted to participate, but Scorpius had flatly refused without explanation when Albus asked if he wanted to try it. In cheerful defiance, Albus went to one of the sessions by himself and found the experience to be somewhat anticlimactic. Meditation mostly just made him feel sleepy, which he concluded was essentially the same thing as being relaxed so perhaps that was the point. 

Each night found the Slytherin common room crowded with students buried in flashcards, quizzing each other, and gorging themselves on platters of biscuits which would appear with pitchers of chocolate milk, courtesy of the sympathetic kitchen elves. As the week wore on and exams were completed, the mood throughout the castle became progressively joyful, and nowhere was that more evident than in Candy. In stark contrast to the previous year, she had gone into every exam straight-backed and determined, and began studying for the next one immediately without allowing herself time for doubt or languish. It was like watching a long distance swimmer; the closer she got to the finish line the brighter her eyes became, and as they walked out of their last exam she spontaneously darted away from them and began sprinting for the nearest exit. Startled, Albus and Scorpius chased after her across the grounds and stared in delighted awe as she threw down her book bag and sprang off of the dock into the lake with a great crow of triumph. Unable to resist Albus kicked off his shoes and jumped in after her, shrieking and swearing at the cold water. 

“You’re both mad!” Scorpius shouted, then rolled his eyes and joined them five seconds later.

 

Albus didn’t bother contemplating the hourglasses before the final feast; winning the House Cup seemed oddly trivial after everything that had happened that year, not to mention the fact that he didn’t feel as though he’d personally contributed very much to the effort. As they took their seats at the House tables he received an assortment of waves and thumbs-ups from his sister and cousins, plus a genuine smile from James, which felt like a victory in and of itself. As usual the food was incredible, and Albus was more than content to sit and eat while the celebration buzzed around him. Of the three of them Candy was clearly the most excited, and when McGonagall finally rose from her seat and went to the podium Candy patted his arm distractedly, whispering “Look look look!”

Once the Great Hall had fallen silent the Headmistress cleared her throat and smiled around at them.

“Good evening everyone, and congratulations on completing another year at Hogwarts. We’re going to do something a little different tonight, which seems appropriate as this concludes our very first Scholar’s Trials. I speak for your professors when I say that the success of this competition far exceeded our expectations, and we have every intention of continuing it next year. We hope that you have found the challenge as rewarding as we have,” she paused for a round of applause from the staff which the students joined with moderate enthusiasm. “As you may recall,” she went on, “I mentioned in September that one student from each House would be awarded a special prize for his or her achievement in the Trials, so before we proceed to the House Cup I would like to recognize these individuals.”

From a pocket of her long robes she produced four gleaming golden medals dangling from their respective red, blue, green, and yellow ribbons.

“For Hufflepuff, Miss Cynthia Rogers!”

Everyone applauded as an older girl Albus didn’t recognize came up to the podium, beaming somewhat awkwardly as McGonagall placed the medal over her head. He was similarly unfamiliar with the seventh-year Ravenclaw girl and the fifth-year Gryffindor boy, and wondered if upperclassmen had just done better managing the Trials in general. The Headmistress turned to their table.

“And for Slytherin, Miss Candy Briar!” 

There was a murmur of conversation as surprised faces turned towards them and Candy blinked in confusion for a moment before slowly getting to her feet, looking dazed. Albus and Scorpius stared at each other, grinning, before joining in the applause which grew as Candy made her way up to the podium. Devereaux and Hagrid were whooping from the staff table and Albus could hear Lily’s piping cheer all the way from the other side of the room. McGonagall put the medal around Candy’s neck and shook her hand, bending down slightly to congratulate her. Devereaux got to his feet and suddenly Albus and Scorpius were standing too, clapping as hard as they could as Candy came back to their table, blushing prettily and beaming at the floor as Nerys intercepted her for a hug. 

“Nobody deserved that more than you,” Albus told her as she sat back down between him and Scorpius.

“Thank you,” she murmured, looking down at the bright gold medal, which bore the image of an open book emitting a shower of stars.

“Congratulations, Candy,” Scorpius said.

She looked up at him, smiling, and for second Albus felt as though something separated him from them, but the moment passed quickly as McGonagall cleared her throat, recalling the attention of the room. After the surprise and happiness he had just experienced, when it was announced that Slytherin had won the House Cup as well all Albus could do was laugh.

 

The next morning after breakfast they gathered in one of the front courtyards to wait for the carriages which would take them to Hogsmeade station and Albus was feeling happier than he had in weeks. It was just sinking in that he was going home for almost three whole glorious months of unscheduled time, and he was already fantasizing about collapsing into his own bed with a book. However, his joy was inevitably tempered by Scorpius’ seemingly omnipresent combination of anxiety and melancholy. It was obvious that he was dreading going back home and Albus couldn’t blame him. As far as he knew the only contact Scorpius had had with Draco all year was the Christmas card he’d received. Unsure of how he could help, Albus was grateful that Candy was still riding high on her Trials win; he was almost positive that she was wearing the gold medal underneath her jumper. Rose, Hugo, and Lily emerged from the shifting crowd and came over to say hi, congratulating Candy and making small talk. Albus noticed something catch Scorpius’ eye and followed his friend’s gaze to a small group of older Ravenclaw girls who were looking rather teary. They seemed to be gathered around one girl in particular who looked vaguely familiar. 

“I remember her,” he said, “She was talking to Dalca in Russian on the first day of class.”

“That’s Nevenka,” Lily said in a low voice, “I heard she’s not coming back next year.”

“Why not?” Rose asked.

“Something about her family,” Lily said, “I think her father might have been arrested by Muggle police.”

Albus looked back at the group of older girls, who were watching Nevenka with wide worried eyes as she spoke quietly to them. Words seemed to fail her and they quickly took turns hugging her, looking as though they were trying to console while she sniffed and nodded in response. Albus frowned, feeling vaguely sorry for the older girl and wondering what was going to happen to her when she went back home. When he glanced back at Scorpius he was surprised by the troubled look on his friend’s face, his grey eyes fixed on Nevenka and her friends.

The train ride back to London was largely uneventful. Candy went in a compartment with Claudette and Nerys, coming back briefly to say goodbye to Albus and Scorpius when the train stopped at Leeds. Lily didn’t join them and Albus tried not to think about it. Left to themselves, he and Scorpius alternated between reading, talking, and staring out the window at the rolling green hills as the mountains receded and the towns gathered, heralding the city. As the train made its way through London Albus could sense Scorpius working himself up to say something, his mouth tensing in distress whenever his eyes darted to the window. With a deep sense of shame Albus acknowledged that it would be a relief to have some distance from the other boy. It was so much easier to be happy when he didn’t have to see Scorpius being sad.

Platform 9 ¾ was as crowded as ever as they came to a stop next to it, and with a sinking heart Albus realized that Astoria wasn’t going to be there waiting for Scorpius. Not knowing what to say he tried to avoid looking at him as they gathered their things in painfully awkward silence. When Albus reached out for the compartment door handle Scorpius put a hand on his arm to stop him, then withdrew it almost immediately, the tops of his ears already starting to turn pink.

“What’s up?” 

“Albus,” he began, looking miserable, “I just wanted to tell you…I wanted to thank you for being my friend. I don’t know what would have happened to me this year if you weren’t.”

Albus smiled, bemused.

“You’re welcome, but why do you look so sad about it?”

Scorpius was staring at the floor and the corners of his mouth tightened.

“I’m just-I’m saying it now in case I don’t get another chance to.”

“What do you mean?”

Scorpius gave a small shake of his head, as though the last rope to safety had just slipped through his fingers as he’d known it would.

“Hogwarts might decide to expel me after all, or your parents might say that they don’t want you around me, or Dad might pack me off somewhere to get away from my mum and her bloody insurgency.”

His last words came out in a somewhat petulant growl and Albus willed himself not to laugh as he stepped forward and put his hands on Scorpius’ shoulders.

“Listen to me,” he said, ducking his head so that the other boy had to look at him, “None of that’s actually going to happen, okay?”

Scorpius looked doubtful.

“It could.”

Albus shrugged.

“There’s a million things that _could_ happen; are you going to worry about all of them too?”

Scorpius blinked and then gave him a small, sad smile.

“I hope not.”

Albus leaned in and kissed his cheek, then pulled back so they were face to face again and squeezed the other boy’s shoulders.

“It really is going to be alright.”

“Okay,” Scorpius murmured, looking a little stunned.

“You’ll write to me again this summer?”

The pink of Scorpius’ blush almost made his eyes look blue.

“If you want me to.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's still rough but I don't care! I'm almost DONE! :D


	27. In Which Ginny Contemplates Her Children and Observes the Virtues of An Antique Book

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ginny and Harry talk to Albus.

Whispers and murmured speculation swarmed through the crowd of parents and assorted relatives at King’s Cross, various rumors and allegations surrounding the Malfoys’ divorce gaining renewed interest in anticipation of Draco’s arrival. As the Hogwarts Express pulled into the station, however, there was still no sign of him. Just as Ginny was beginning to wonder if perhaps he had come in disguise he appeared, moving through the crowd as quickly as he could, the crowd parting for him as though he were contagious. When he had chosen a place to stand everyone within five feet moved away from him, leaving an almost perfect circle of space.

Even though the sight of her children emerging from the train always made Ginny feel more emotional than she was willing to admit, the reaction was particularly strong today. Lily flew into her arms like a bird already talking away, delivering rapid fire information which she would expect her mother to remember later, while Ginny was still just savoring the physical reality of her and not taking in a word. As usual James got off the train surrounded by friends and at a glance Ginny was able to gauge his level of anxiety by how ‘on’ he was; his smiles extra wide, his laughter loud and frequent. She and Harry had both tried to tell him that ‘James Potter’ could be anyone he chose to be, but of her three children James seemed to bear the weight of the family name most heavily. Ginny hoped that he would be able to spend plenty of time with his Muggle friends over the summer.

As she had known he would, Albus got off the train with Scorpius. A breath she hadn’t realized she was holding released as she confirmed the brightness in Albus’ eyes, the animation of his expression as he sought out and spotted her and Harry. Before he could begin making his way to them however, Scorpius caught his sleeve and said something to him, looking gloomy, which must have been about his father because Albus glanced over to where Draco was waiting in his segregated space. Looking simultaneously concerned and reassuring, Albus nodded and hugged Scorpius, closing his eyes and patting the other boy on the back before they separated. Ginny wasn’t proud to admit that for a split second she wanted to snatch her son away from him.

Harry had watched the boys say goodbye with an equally thoughtful and somewhat troubled expression, his eyes following father and son as they went to get the rest of Scorpius’ luggage. 

“Hair grew back quick, huh?” Harry asked, brightening considerably as Albus reached him.

Albus giggled as Harry inspected his head with more thoroughness than was strictly necessary; her husband loved fussing over their children.

“Yup,” Albus replied, “I knew it would.”

Harry nodded sagely.

“It’s the burden we bear, I’m afraid. The hair which will simply not be contained.”

By this point James had joined them on the platform and was watching this exchange with a muted, almost lonely look on his face. Ginny didn’t want to embarrass him by acknowledging this rare unguarded moment, but once it had passed and James had regained some of his usual equilibrium she took the first opportunity to hug him and plant as many kisses in his hair as she could before he wriggled free.

Over the course of their journey home (collecting luggage, enhancing the taxi’s storage space, Confunding the driver) and throughout the early part of the evening (ordering a Chinese, eating with the children) Ginny could feel the unspoken knowledge between herself and Harry that they were going to have to talk to Albus that night. After dinner they gave the children permission to disperse rather than asking them to help clean up. Once all three of them were upstairs Harry and Ginny stood across from each other at the small kitchen table, scraping leftovers into Tupperware.

“Al seems alright,” Harry said quietly, beginning the conversation as though they’d already been having it. While it was phrased as a statement Ginny could also hear a question, a request for confirmation.

“Yes,” she agreed, “I think he does too.”

Harry leaned his hands against the table for a moment, deep in thought, and then shook his head.

“I thought I knew how I felt about it, but now…”

Ginny waited for him to go on, and when he didn’t she said, “Do you think Astoria might be a danger to Draco and Scorpius?”

“Yes,” Harry said after a moment, looking grim, “The spell she was trying to use on Scorpius…we’re still trying to make sense of it at the Ministry, but even the most veteran Aurors are saying that it’s older than anything they’ve ever encountered in the field. ‘The kind of magic you only ever read about,’ they say.”

Ginny shivered in spite of herself.

“Do you think Draco knew that she was teaching Scorpius Dark magic?”

“I don’t. I called Draco to my office to tell him what had happened and to show him the letters, and watching him read them…it’s been a really long time since I’ve seen Draco look scared like that. Obviously I tried to advise him as best I could on protection spells and enchantments for the Manor, but that doesn’t really offer much reassurance when Astoria was able to get to Hogsmeade and then get letters to Scorpius all year undetected.”

They fell silent, both deep in thought. Finally Harry took off his glasses and massaged the bridge of his nose, sighing wearily.

“I keep telling myself that Scorpius is innocent in all of this; that he’s just a kid who didn’t know what to do and panicked, but…it’s obvious that Astoria wants to reunite with him. She and her comrades are using dangerous ancient magic they might not even have a full grasp of, and as far as we can tell they’ve gone completely underground.”

“And,” Ginny added, “If she ever tries to get to Scorpius at Hogwarts again it’s likely that Al will end up in the wrong place at the wrong time again.”

Harry folded his arms across his chest, deep frown lines between his eyebrows.

“Gin, I know we said that we weren’t going to interfere-”

“I know,” Ginny said quietly, mirroring his pose, “but…they love each other, Harry. You didn’t see the look on Al’s face when Scorpius started to cry.”

Harry looked away and shifted awkwardly, ruffling the back of his hair with a mixture of sympathy and discomfort.

“When you say…that they love each other…you don’t think…?” His words trailed away but the question was clear. Ginny considered for a moment.

“Maybe not yet, but we can’t rule it out.”

Harry nodded, taking that in.

“So what are we going to say to Al?” He asked.

 

Harry and Ginny went to Albus’ bedroom and knocked on the door.

“Come in,” he called, and they went in.

Albus was sitting up in bed reading a book by the light of the lamp on his side table. Pebble, who had apparently been dozing in his cage, roused himself at the sound of their entrance and gave a politely affronted chitter, turning around on his perch so that his back was to them. Albus marked his page and closed the book on his lap, looking resigned. _Maybe he’s been waiting for this all day just like we have_ , she thought.

“Your dad and I were wondering if we could talk to you for a minute.”

“Okay,” Albus replied, his tone a little cautious. Harry went to bring over the desk chair while Ginny sat down at the foot of Albus’ bed.

“The three of us need to have a conversation about what happened this year,” she said.

Her son didn’t fold his arms across his chest, but Ginny could sense that he wanted to.

“Al,” Harry began, leaning forward so that his elbows were braced against his knees, “I’m sure you can understand why we’re worried.”

“I can,” Albus said, “but I’m fine now, and it’s not like anything terrible happened to me while I was under that spell.”

“You’re right,” Ginny agreed, “and you can’t begin to imagine how relieved we are about that.”

Albus shrugged, a slight challenge in his eyes.

“All thanks to Scorpius for watching out for me and bringing me to Madame Pomfrey.”

Ginny struggled to not look at Harry.

“And thanks to whoever broke the spell,” Harry added patiently, “We still don’t know who did it or how.”

“I know that.”

“What we’re more worried about now,” Ginny said, “Is that something like this, or something worse, might happen again someday, and while we obviously don’t want Scorpius to get hurt, _you’re_ our priority.”

“What are you trying to say?”

Ginny looked down at her hands, silently hoping that Harry would go on for her, and he did.

“Just that we want you to be careful. Be on the lookout.”

Albus frowned.

“For what?”

Neither of them answered right away. Harry looked uncomfortable, twisting his fingers together a little, and Ginny suddenly wished that they had never agreed to have this conversation at all. When it became clear that Harry still didn’t have an answer for their son, she stepped in.

“For anything that makes you feel uncomfortable or that doesn’t seem safe. We want you to be able to think for yourself and make your own decisions no matter what’s going on around you.”

Albus blinked at them.

“You’re talking about Scorpius,” he said, a note of betrayal creeping into his voice, “You’re telling me to watch out for Scorpius being evil.”

“No,” Harry and Ginny said together.

“We don’t think Scorpius is evil,” Harry went on, “But even he acknowledges that sometimes he does things that seem normal, things he was taught to think of as normal from a very young age, only to realize that they’re not.”

“Like saving my life?” Albus said, lifting his chin, “Like ratting out his own mum to the Ministry of Magic? Things like that?”

Harry sat back in the chair, sighing heavily. Ginny reached out and touched the lump under the covers which was Albus’ foot. Albus quickly pulled his knees up to his chest and she withdrew her hand, stung but determined to not show it.

“Albus,” she said, and her tone made him avert his eyes at once, “We’re not telling you to think badly of him and we’re not telling you to stop being friends. I’m thankful to Scorpius for what he did for you, and for what he had to struggle with in order to do it. He-,” she paused, “I like him, Al.”

“He’s my best friend,” Albus said, still not looking at either of them.

“We know that,” Harry said, “and I’m glad he has you for a friend. I wish…I wish I could have been more like you when I was your age. I wonder sometimes if a lot of things could’ve turned out differently,” he paused and Ginny couldn’t help but look over at him, surprised by this admission, “I think what’s going to keep Scorpius on the right path are his friendships, with you and Candy and hopefully with his dad too. Loneliness and rejection can do terrible things to people and we don’t want that. Look at me,” Albus did, his expression vulnerable and uncertain, “All we want is for you to be safe. If the time ever comes when you and your friends disagree about what’s right and wrong I want you to be brave enough to do what’s right, even if that means going against them.”

Albus and Harry stared at each other for a long moment, Ginny looking between them. She would have hoped that Albus might look comforted or even inspired by his father’s words, but instead he looked as though he was about to cry. Harry put a hand on his shoulder.

“Do you understand?”

Albus looked down at the book in his lap and nodded, his jaw set. Harry moved forward off of the chair to hug him.

“I love you."

“I love you too, Dad,” Albus murmured. Harry patted his back in almost exactly the same way that Albus had patted Scorpius’ and got to his feet.

“We’re always here if you want to talk, no matter what, okay?”

Albus nodded again but didn’t look up. Harry and Ginny exchanged a glance before Harry turned and left the room. Ginny got up and scooted further down the bed until she was sitting in front of Albus, who was still looking at the book in his hands.

“What have you got now?” she asked, nodding towards it. Albus sniffed and turned the book over so that she could see the cover.

“ _‘A Treatise on ‘The Dreaming’ and other Shamanic Traditions of the Aboriginal Peoples’_ ,” she read aloud, unable to stop herself from chuckling, “Isn’t it a shame when people settle for such nondescript titles?” 

Albus smiled a little. Ginny reached out and turned the book slightly towards her, examining the gold embossed letters of the title, which filled the entire cover with extravagant spirals. The book itself was clearly an antique, with a painting of what looked like the Australian outback under a starry night sky along its fore edge. 

“Where did you get this?” she asked, somewhat bewildered. Albus hesitated, and then opened the front cover. The flyleaves were patterned in a pale blue art nouveau design, and in the upper left hand corner an inscription had been added in a neat hand.

_To Albus_  
_Happy Christmas! I hope you find this enjoyable, or at least interesting. It seemed like the kind of thing you might like._  
_From Scorpius_  
_2018_

A series of complicated emotions passed through Ginny as she tried to decide on an appropriate response. Finally she smiled and nudged Albus playfully.

“Is it just me or is his handwriting way too posh for a twelve-year-old?”

“I tease him about that all the time.”

Ginny laughed.

“Quite right. Clearly he’s already calling upon the forces of darkness and your father and I will have to reconsider our whole position on the issue.”

Albus’ smile fell and Ginny knew at once that she’d gone too far. 

“You know I’m only teasing, right?”

“I know,” Albus said, closing the book and pulling it a little closer to himself. Ginny folded her hands in her lap.

“I’ll let you be,” she said, “I love you, Albus.”

“I love you too, Mum.”

“Thank you,” she said, “Thank you for loving me.”

He nodded and she put her hand over his for a moment before getting up and leaving the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm super tired and happy and THE SOULING SONG IS DONE! :D

**Author's Note:**

> Part 2! Yay! This one has gone through some interesting changes in my mind this summer (some of which are a little intimidating at the moment) but I'm even more excited about it now :)


End file.
